David Martinez


    I slammed my tenth—maybe eleventh—bottle on the table. Honestly, I lost count.


    “And then, after all that, some random-ass nobody cuts the time?!” I let out a burp at the end. “How?!”


    Anderson just shrugged. “There’s a lot of solid mercs out there. They just don’t have the rep yet.”


    “Well, they should get some then! I lost a grand and a preem sniper!”


    “You got six grand back for third place.”


    “That’s irrelevant!”


    I grabbed another bottle, because fuck it. I wanted that damn SPT32. That thing was so good, even borgs hesitated before messing with it.


    I kept drinking, drowning in frustration. The whole thing felt unfair.


    “You did good for your first time,” Anderson said, his tone casual but not patronizing. “You’re still new to the solo and merc world, right?”


    The other people at the bar were definitely judging me, but I didn’t care.


    “Yeah, I started this month.” I nodded, still frowning.


    “Fall starts tomorrow, so if we put it on a scale from one to ten, you’re like… rep one,” Anderson counted on his fingers. “And if we put your experience on a scale from one to a hundred… maybe a ten? Probably less.”


    “Not exactly a pep talk, Andy.”


    “Yeah, I ain’t great at this, but listen—you were also a nobody, and you still got third place. That’s something.” He gestured toward himself and his hat. “If anything, me getting second should raise some eyebrows.”


    I squinted. “Why? You that popular with 6th Street?”


    He just pointed at himself again, and it clicked.


    “Oh,” I muttered.


    “Look, I thought this would be fun, but you’re worse than when we left the clinic,” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t say I didn’t try.”


    “I just got a lot to think about, man.” I sighed, my head already aching from everything I had to do. “Mom’s birthday, people to meet, Academy to attend… and that’s not even half of it.”


    Anderson gave a knowing nod. “I feel ya, kid. When I was your age, I tried to do a lot at once. So take some advice from me.” He leaned in slightly. “Life’s about balance, not control. If you try to do everything, you’ll end up doing nothing. Figure out your priorities first. Then handle the rest.”


    I paused, rolling that over in my head.


    It wasn’t bad advice. Just one of those things that sounded obvious—but needed to be said every now and then to keep yourself grounded.


    We need both kinds of people—the ones who aim for the sky, and the ones who keep our feet on the ground.


    I had no plans of being an Icarus. No, thank you.


    “Thanks, Anderson.” I gave him a knowing look. “If you ever get invited to another one of these competitions, call me.”


    “Will do.”


    “Now, I gotta go. Don’t wanna be late.”


    “Farewell.”


    I left the bar, probably giving the locals a break from my rambling, and hopped on the first bus to Watson. Today wasn’t exactly a win, but it kept me distracted. Now I had to figure out what to tackle first.


    Priorities:


    Meet with Sasha.


    Get a gift for Mom’s birthday.


    Talk to Lev about that Workshop gig—I might be able to help.


    And get myself a fucking car.


    Taking the bus everywhere wasn’t doing my rep any favors.


    I figured I’d start with the easiest. I pulled out my agent and called Sasha. She picked up almost instantly.


    “David! Finally! You got time?” She sounded like she’d been expecting this call for a while.


    “I do. Let’s meet on the street—Vik probably doesn’t want to be bothered.”


    “Oh, okay! I’ll be there soon.”


    The bus ride was quiet. Not many people around. I absentmindedly reached down to pet Panther to pass the time—


    Wait.


    Where was he?


    I glanced around, checked the empty seats. Nowhere. When was the last time I saw him? He was with Jessy, right?


    Huh…


    I didn’t have time to dwell on it. The bus stopped near Misty’s Esoterica. Just as I was about to sit on the sidewalk, Jackie showed up.


    “?Hey, David!” He greeted me as usual. “How you feelin’? Finally outta the medicanico?”


    “For about a week now, yeah,” I said—then realized something. “Shit, sorry for not mentioning it.”


    “No worries. Life’s been slow anyway. Too peaceful. No new gigs coming my way, so I’m just bouncing around looking for work.”


    “How’s that going?”


    “Terrible.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Either someone else snatches the gig first, or the fixer says I ain''t ‘qualified’ enough.”


    “Damn. Sorry, man.” Not much I could do about that.


    …Or could I?


    “Don’t sweat it, hermanito.” He waved it off. “But what about you? Got anything lined up?”


    “A few things, yeah, but mostly Academy stuff.” I lied. No way I was telling everyone I was working for the government.


    “Still aiming to be an Arasaka graduate?” His eyes widened slightly. “But you can—”


    “Made a promise to Mom.” I cut him off before he said exactly what I thought about my situation.


    “Oh. In that case… good for you, I guess?”


    I chuckled. “You’re such a gonk.”


    “There’s no better gonk than me.” He grinned.


    “Oh, so that’s where all the chit-chatting is coming from.” Misty stepped out of the Esoterica, smiling. “Good to see you, David.”


    “Misty.”


    She turned to Jackie. “And what are you doing here?”


    “Dropping this off for you.” He held up a small box.


    Her face lit up instantly. “Oh! My package! Open it up!”


    I stood up, curious. Jackie popped the box open, and I frowned.


    “Beads?”


    “Yes! And these came all the way from South Africa!” She carefully picked up the package. “Now we can finally make that mandala we talked about!”


    Jackie chuckled. “I know, chica, I know.”


    I raised a brow. “What’s a mandala?”


    Misty turned to me with that dreamy look she always had, like she was about to explain the secrets of the universe.


    “A mandala is a geometric pattern, often circular, that represents balance, unity, and the universe itself,” she said, holding up the beads like they were sacred artifacts. “They’ve been used in spiritual traditions for centuries—meditation, self-discovery, all that.”


    I gave her a blank stare. “…So, it’s just fancy bead art?”


    Jackie burst out laughing. “Man, you really got no soul, do you?”


    Misty just smiled. “It’s more than that. Creating a mandala is like… putting your mind at ease. You focus on each bead, each pattern, and slowly, everything else—your worries, your stress—just fades away.”


    I scoffed. “I don’t know, Misty. I feel like getting a sniper rifle would’ve put my mind at ease, but here I am, empty-handed.”


    Jackie clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Something tells me you''re still salty about that… whatever that''s about.”


    “Extremely.”


    Misty chuckled. “Well, if you ever feel like trying something different, you’re welcome to join us.”


    “Appreciate it, but I’ve got enough on my plate.”


    She nodded, unfazed. “Fair enough.”


    Just then, I spotted Sasha walking toward us, her stride purposeful, her expression hard to read.


    “Ah, there’s my cue,” I said, stepping away from Jackie and Misty. “See you two around.”


    Jackie gave me a fist bump. “Stay safe, hermanito.”


    “Yeah, yeah.”


    Misty waved. “Don’t forget to take a deep breath every once in a while.”


    I left them behind and met Sasha a few steps away. She crossed her arms, giving me a once-over.


    “You look like shit.”


    “Good to see you too, Sasha.”


    She sighed. “Come on. Let’s talk.”


    We stopped at the entrance of a dimly lit alley, where Sasha pulled out a cigar, lighting it up before offering me one. I shook my head. No thanks.


    “So, what’s this about?” I asked, watching her take a drag. “Must be serious if you didn’t talk to anyone else first.”


    “Yeah,” she exhaled, then looked me dead in the eye. “It’s about Vomi.”


    That got my attention. “What happened?”


    “I was out shopping a few days ago, you know, buying girl stuff.”


    I kept my face neutral. “No, I don’t know. But go on.”


    She smirked, then continued. “As I was about to leave, I saw Vomi walk in—with some Maelstrom. Thought maybe she was working a gig or something, but no. That wasn’t it.”


    Her grip on the cigar tightened, bending it slightly. “She was buying chems from them.”


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    That gave me pause. “What’s wrong with that? Don’t Ripperdocs use chems all the time?”


    “Sure, but she wasn’t using them for patients. She bought the stuff and injected herself on the spot.” Sasha frowned, pressing a finger to her temple. “I think it was called… Anthemine? Ketamine?”


    I stiffened. “Ketamine? That’s a heavy sedative.”


    Memories of my ripperdoc training flashed through my head. I needed to pick up more shifts with Vik soon, or the contract would start causing problems. Another task for the ever-growing to-do list.


    “Yeah,” Sasha said, exhaling another puff of smoke, “but it barely slowed her down. She stumbled a little, but—”


    “I know.” I cut in. “I have it too.”


    The symbiote. The thing that made us both different.


    “I had more than ten beers earlier, and I feel completely sober.”


    Sasha nodded. “Maybe that’s why she kept injecting more. And I just… watched her.” She hesitated, shaking her head. “Fuck, I don’t even know how to explain it. She wasn’t even there anymore, but she kept going. Kept pushing more and more into her system.”


    “But why?”


    This didn’t make sense. Vomi was always precise, calculated. When I first started dealing with my own condition, she kept a close eye on me, making sure I understood what was happening. She wouldn’t just recklessly overdose. She knew the risks better than anyone.


    It didn’t add up.


    “I don’t know.” Sasha sighed, taking another drag. “She kept rambling about how society’s fucked. How it’s easier to numb the pain than to face it.” She glanced at me. “She was… you know.”


    “She’s what?”


    Sasha gave me a confused look. “Wait, you don’t know?”


    I frowned. “Know what?”


    She flicked ash onto the pavement, then turned to face me fully.


    “Vomi’s the only survivor of the San Francisco Holocaust.”


    I blinked.


    “Come again?”


    “She’s the only one who survived the blast,” Sasha said, exhaling smoke. “The only person to ever walk away from a nuclear detonation.”


    I stared at her. Processing.


    “Oh… so that explains the memories I saw…” I muttered, far calmer than I had any right to be. “Vomi… fuck. How does she even work?”


    Sasha leaned forward, resting her chin on her knees. “I saw her back when she was in San Fran. She was different. Brighter. Bolder. Funnier. A little awkward, sure, but she had energy.” Her voice softened. “Now she’s just…”


    “Closed off,” I finished.


    Sasha nodded. “Yeah. Keeps everything to herself. She never even told anyone how she survived.”


    I frowned. “No one asked?”


    “Oh, people asked. But she never answered. Something was going on in San Francisco before the city got wiped off the map.” Sasha tapped ash onto the pavement. “I actually helped her old crew track her down once, using the signal from her chrome. Still can’t believe I pulled it off, considering how shitty the connection was.”


    I leaned back, staring at the cracked asphalt.


    Vomi always seemed normal to me—well, as normal as any of us could be. Even with her quirks, I never thought twice about them.


    But now?


    Now I had no idea what to think.


    Sasha took another drag of her cigar, exhaling slowly. “You said you saw her memories?”


    “Yeah. Not sure how or why, but… it happened.” I rubbed my temples. “Flashes of things. Wreckage. Fire. People screaming. It was like I was there—but not really.”


    She eyed me, wary. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”


    I scoffed. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Sasha, I think I accidentally time-traveled into Vomi’s brain’?”


    She cracked a smile at that but quickly shook her head. “Still, this is serious, David. If you’re seeing her memories, it might mean—”


    “I know.” I sighed. “That I’m becoming more like her.”


    Silence hung between us. Neither of us wanted to say it out loud, but we both knew the truth—whatever changed Vomi, whatever made her survive that blast, it was inside me now, too.


    Sasha flicked her cigar away, watching the ember die out. “I don’t think she’s handling it well,” she admitted. “Maybe that’s why she’s dosing herself. Trying to dull whatever’s happening to her.”


    “Yeah, well, drowning yourself in sedatives isn’t a long-term solution.”


    “Not unless you want to go out that way.”


    The weight of her words settled in my gut like a stone.


    I looked up at the sky, the glow of Night City casting everything in a sickly orange hue. “So what do we do?”


    Sasha shook her head. “I don’t know, David. But whatever’s going on with her… I think it’s getting worse.”


    “How so?”


    “Well, have you seen her since… everything happened?”


    I thought about it for a moment. “It’s been over a week since she disappeared, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”


    “It means a lot of things, but sure, let’s stick with wishful thinking.” Sasha stood up, grinding the last of her cigar under her heel. “Thanks for listening. I’ve been sitting on this for a while, and honestly, you’re probably the only one who can do something about it.”


    I stood up too, offering a fist bump. “I don’t know if she’ll listen, but I’ll try.”


    She tapped her knuckles against mine. “Alright. I’ve got my own stuff to handle. Oh, and do yourself a favor—get some new clothes. That fit is atrocious.”


    “…What?”


    I watched her walk off before looking down at myself.


    What the hell was wrong with my clothes?


    I shook my head and made my way to the clinic. Vik wasn’t around—expected, considering it was almost night—so I just headed straight for the bathroom and took a long shower.


    Alright, time to figure out something for Mom’s birthday.


    What the hell am I gonna do?


    Mom likes music. She also loves junk food—especially jazz, electro swing, and a big bowl of noodles. But just getting her takeout feels too cheap. I need to do something special, something to silence that nagging voice in my head that keeps telling me not to care.


    I want to care. It’s my mom.


    I step out of the shower and throw on a tank top and some shorts. Simple. Then I head to the kitchen, grabbing some leftover burger patties Anderson left behind. As I toss one onto the grill, an idea starts forming.


    Cooking isn’t that hard if I follow a recipe to the letter. Music, though? That’s trickier—I’ve never played an instrument outside of rhythm games. She used to enjoy some of the games we played together before the crash, but that was more about indulging me than something she truly loved.


    Damn. Tough choice.


    “That smells good.”


    Lev’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I turn to see him standing there, arms crossed.


    “You gonna let Lev have one?”


    “Sure, I’ll make one for you.” I flip the patties mid-air, only half paying attention. “Actually, can you help me with something?”


    “What is it, Davey?”


    “Mom’s birthday is coming up, and I have no clue what to get her. She likes junk food and music, but I’m running in circles here.”


    Lev tilts his head, considering. "Music and junk food, huh? You could take her out to one of those old-school jazz joints. There’s gotta be a few left in Heywood."


    "Yeah, but that feels... I don’t know, basic?" I sigh, flipping the burgers onto a plate. "I want it to be personal. Something that shows I put in effort."


    Lev nods, taking the plate when I offer it. "Alright, alright. What about making her a song? You don''t need to be a pro—just something simple. You got that keyboard lying around, right?"


    I blink. "How do you know about that?"


    Lev snorts, already biting into his burger. "Because it’s been collecting dust in the corner since you got it. Thought you’d pawned it off by now."


    I rub the back of my neck. "I… might’ve messed around with it a few times."


    "Then there you go! Make a little track, add some electro swing elements, and boom—custom song for your mom." He waves his burger at me like it''s the easiest thing in the world.


    I chew on the idea—figuratively, not literally, since I haven’t even touched my food yet. It’s definitely more effort than just buying something, and I did say I wanted it to be special.


    "You said it like I just go and tap tap tap and the music is ready. I''d need to study composition and the genre, there''s no way I''d make this on time.”


    Lev smirks. "Good thing you know some musicians, then."


    I pause mid-bite. "Do I?"


    He nods. "Vomi."


    "..."


    "..."


    "..."


    "..."


    "Vomi? A musician?" I scoff, finally taking a bite of my burger. "She’s not even around half the time. How would she even record anything?"


    Without a word, Lev pulls out his phone and hits play on a song. I recognize it instantly.


    "Eddies for Nothing, The Refused," I mutter, nodding along to the intro. "What about it?"


    "Just listen."


    I shrug and do as he says. The opening drags a bit—long buildup, but once that riff hits, it''s impossible not to move with it.


    "Now that ain''t working, that''s the way you do it…"


    I freeze.


    I know that voice.


    "No way." I turn to Lev, dead serious.


    "Yes way." He grins, taking another bite of his burger.


    "How did I never notice it?"


    "Kapitan has this effect. She never leaves a trace behind."


    I lean back, still processing. Vomi, the same Vomi who holes up in clinics, obsesses over biotech, and avoids people like it''s a sport, is Poison? The vocalist of The Refused?


    "You''re messing with me," I say, pointing at Lev with what''s left of my burger.


    He just shrugs. "Believe what you want, Davey. But the proof’s in the music."


    I shake my head, replaying the song in my mind. Now that I know, it’s obvious. The way she bends notes, the slight rasp in her voice—it’s all her.


    "So what, she just… records in secret?"


    Lev smirks. "You’d be surprised how many people in Night City have side gigs."


    I rub my face. This changes things. If Vomi really is Poison, then she knows way more about music than I ever thought.


    "Alright," I say, setting my plate down. "That still doesn''t help, since she''s not here and I know shit about writing music." Then I shake my head. "Poison, huh? Damn, she''s seriously talented."


    "Actually, I think the only song Kapitan made was Devil Trigger. The others were—"


    "I know, but she recreated them, didn''t she?" I say, still surprised. "That''s something even the best in the big leagues can''t do."


    And I’m not exaggerating. Even Kerry Eurodyne didn’t write all his own songs—he’s got an entire backstage crew handling creation, performance, and production. That’s why making music costs a fortune but also rakes in massive eddies. To think Vomi not only had the infrastructure but the skill to pull it off… even after what happened in San Francisco…


    Shit, she''s carrying a lot, isn''t she?


    Lev shrugs, unsure how to respond. "Well, the longer you''re around Kapitan, the faster you''ll notice she’s not exactly normal."


    "Oh, since you''re here…" I start, remembering something I needed to ask him.


    "Yeah?" Lev finishes his burger.


    "How''s that workshop plan coming along?"


    "Oh, that?" He straightens up. "I''ve got the tools and the know-how, but I still need people willing to work and a place to set up shop."


    "So you haven’t found a spot yet," I say, finishing my burger and tossing the leftovers in the trash. "I can help with that. Turns out the Academy''s teachings are actually useful for something other than shoving me into some corpo cubicle."


    "Oh, I''d appreciate that, but you think you can handle it?" Lev eyes me skeptically. "No offense, but I’m usually the one dealing with paperwork."


    "Yeah, but I’ve got the corporate office knowledge. I’ll make sure you get an excellent contract," I say with a smirk. Compared to the hell the Academy puts me through, this is nothing.


    "Alright, just don’t let your mom down." He nods, then waves as he heads off.


    As for the music thing? I’ll put that on hold for now. Food, though… The only thing I can think of that she might like is spaghetti with meatballs. Real meat, not that fake substitute crap.


    Actually, I’ve got the ingredients. Guess I’ll give this a shot.


    <hr>


    So now I just need to add the sauce and wait a few minutes…


    Wait, why is it turning green? Why does it smell like… whoa this is awful!


    <hr>


    I think I’ll ask someone to watch me next time. Had to use deodorant just to get rid of the kitchen smell—Jesus Christ…


    Alright, that’s done for now. I head to my room and pull up Forecloses.Net on my terminal. They usually have solid listings, but I try not to focus too much on the price—just whether the location benefits the business and if it’s tolerably dangerous. If I’m not careful, the place could get raided, so I take extra steps to avoid unnecessary risks.


    The plan is simple: a workshop where cars get modded and delivered to customers. But it’ll also be an autoshop, selling car parts. And to sell car parts, we need cars on display, meaning it would double as a dealership. So I need a space big enough to handle all three businesses, safe enough to avoid being an easy target, and in a densely populated area to attract customers.


    Not an easy task.


    The listings are either too expensive or dirt cheap—meaning the place is either too safe or a complete death trap. If it’s neither of those, it’s too small. And if it’s big enough, it’s an unnecessary money sink.


    I decide to cut the dealership from the plan and search again. That helps narrow things down. A few locations pop up, and after digging through them, two clear choices emerge: Downtown and The Glen.


    Downtown is obvious—right next to Corporate Plaza, packed with wealthy customers, plus decent security. But The Glen? The Glen is connected to every district in Night City. The space is big enough for what I need and then some, and while it’s not as secure as Downtown, it’s not that dangerous either.


    …At least, not until you factor in the gangs.


    Still, I decide to go with The Glen. It’s cheaper, and I could probably negotiate the price even lower. Plus, I notice something interesting—the website flagged the area as “frequently used by the locals.” A red flag, if I’ve ever seen one. That means there’s something off about it.


    Yeah… I’ll need to bring someone with me for this. No way I’m walking into that alone.


    God bless the Academy’s teachings.


    “Ciri! You busy?” I shout from my room.


    Her room is right next to mine, so she should hear me just fine.


    “I’m studying! What do you need?” she yells back.


    “Wanna come with me on a deal that might go south?” I call out.


    There’s a pause before she came to my room. “A deal gone south?”


    “Possibly,” I admit. “I found a place in The Glen for the shop, but the site flagged the area as ‘frequently used by locals,’ which is a big red flag. I’ll also call Jackie to back us up. I’ll try to be as professional as possible.”


    “Aren’t you a… merc?” Ciri says, pausing to find the right word. “I don’t think you actually need us.”


    “I know, but three people are more intimidating—and reassuring—than just one,” I say.


    She sighs but doesn’t argue. “Fine, let me finish up, then I’ll come with.”


    “Alright!”


    I turn back to my wardrobe, which hasn’t exactly grown much since I started crashing at the clinic. Not a lot of choices, and most of what I have doesn’t scream professional negotiator. I need to look like I know what I’m doing.


    After some rummaging, I settle on an outfit that might work—clean, put together, but not too stiff. When I check the mirror, I realize I look less like a corporate professional and more like a rebellious rich kid. Not exactly the effect I was going for, but… it’ll have to do.


    I adjust my shirt in the mirror. It’s one of the nicer ones Vomi gave me—a social shirt, gym pants, and some decent sneakers that match. Not exactly a professional negotiator look, but it’ll have to do. Plus, I have to admit… Vomi has good taste. The outfit is clean, put-together, but still relaxed.


    “I''m ready!”, She warned me before even getting to my room.


    “Great. Lets just—” I pause mid-sentence, realizing something. “Wait, is that a sword on your back?”


    “What?” She tilts her head, feigning ignorance.


    “You really like swords, don’t you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.


    She sighs. “It’s not like that. This one’s… special to me.” She unsheathes it, letting the metal catch the dim light. “My mentor gave it to me. Before—” She stops short, then slides it back in place. “Zapomina. Let’s just go.”


    I nod, grabbing my terminal. “Alright. First, we stop by to let Jackie know what’s up.”


    “Got it,” she says, stepping aside so I can lead the way.


    <hr>


    “So, you need an extra hueso for this, hermanito?” Jackie asks, lounging on a battered couch while Misty reads his chakras. Or maybe his fate, I don’t know.


    “Stay still,” Misty scolds, pressing her fingers to his temples.


    Jackie grins but doesn’t move, waiting for my answer.


    “I figured it wouldn’t hurt,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “More muscle looks more professional.”


    Ciri folds her arms. “Right. Because you scream professional in that outfit.”


    I ignore her. “And besides, I get the feeling I’m about to try and buy a building from gangsters.”


    Jackie chuckles. “You just say the word, chico. I’ll be there.”


    “If nothing goes wrong, we can hang out after,” I say, nudging Ciri. “You really need to get out of that room and live a little.”


    She gives me a deadpan look. “I know. But I have… you know what? Fine. Let’s see how this goes.”


    Misty finishes whatever she was doing to Jackie and steps back. “Alright, that should help. Just don’t overthink it—trust yourself.”


    Jackie grins and stretches. “Don’t worry, chica, my instincts are sharp as ever.”


    Misty raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Just try not to get into too much trouble.”


    Jackie winks. “No promises.”


    I roll my eyes and slap him on the shoulder. “Come on, choom, let’s go. There should be a bus around now.”


    As he stands, he smirks at me. “Wait, you still don’t have a car? Even I got a bike now.”


    I groan. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Now move it before this place sells itself.”