“Finally got a ride…”
David listened to the voice echoing in his mind, his thoughts in a complete jumble.
Slaughtering 6th Street…
Just for a damn bike?
Did this lunatic know how much trouble he had brought upon himself?!
6th Street lost a low-level boss and several goons; they would never let this go!
Jake, however, didn’t care about any of this.
He looked at the inventory update notification popping up on the screen and sat back slightly.
[Obtained: €$1054]
[Obtained: M-10AF Lexington Smart Pistol * 1 (Mass-Produced)]
[Obtained: M251S Ajax Power Assault Rifle * 1 (Mass-Produced)]
[Obtained: Fragmentation Grenade * 2 (Mass-Produced)]
[Obtained: 6th Street Paint Job Bike * 1]
[Obtained: Bounce-Back Mk.1 Pneumatic Injector]
[New Item Added: Bounce-Back Mk.1]
“Mass-Produced?”
Jake rubbed his tight chest and coughed lightly twice.
He had seen both the guns and the med items in 2077, but the item tier classification here was slightly different; judging from its grayish-white color, it likely corresponded to the Common tier in other games.
Fine enough, better than having no gun…
Even though they were the lowest-tier weapons and med items, Jake was fairly satisfied with this haul—at least he had everything he needed now.
And from David’s perspective.
He only saw that the guns and med items his hands touched vanished into thin air, and he couldn’t feel any weight on his body either.
Yet he hadn’t recovered from the battle yet, and for a moment, he didn’t even realize where the issue lay.
David’s gaze swept over the shivering suited man in the corner.
The man sat slumped on the ground, his face looking barely better than a corpse’s, and when David looked over, their eyes made contact for a brief instant.
David’s hollow eyes resembled those of the most cold-blooded executioner.
Causing the suited man to shudder violently, instantly lowering his head, wishing he could bury it right into his chest.
Jake paid no further attention to that corporate drone.
He controlled David to pick up the duffel bag and straddle the motorcycle.
Vroom—!
David twisted the throttle.
The roar of the engine sounded, scenery rewinding rapidly.
The motorcycle deftly darted between traffic and pedestrians, speeding toward Watson district.
…
Santo Domingo, under the overpass.
The scene had already been hastily cordoned off by the NCPD with yellow police tape.
Police cruisers with flashing red and blue lights parked askew around the perimeter, while two uniformed officers leaned against car doors smoking, too lazy to even step into the core scene.
“Six dead, all 6th Street, Barnes’s crew that ran the protection racket in this block.” The younger officer casually reported over his comms.
“Did security cams catch it?” the older officer asked beside him.
“Nope.”
The younger officer said: “6th Street running a protection racket—keeping cams on would just be asking for trouble, right?
They broke ’em long ago.”
“Mm, what did that corp drone say?” the older officer pressed.
“Pissed his pants, kept insisting he didn’t see anything.” The younger officer shook his head, replying: “Couldn’t get a damn thing out of him.”
“Though other eyewitnesses said…”
Recollecting the questioning earlier, he continued: “The killer left riding a 6th Street bike.”
“Heh, nothing more than gang infighting, or some merc with too much time on their hands.”
The older officer sneered, exhaling a puff of gray smoke: “Stuff like this happens three to five times a week in Santo Domingo.
Matters on 6th Street’s own turf aren’t our place to stick our noses into.”
Regarding the deaths of their own members.
6th Street would dispatch their own people to investigate and retaliate, never bothering to task police like them, while the NCPD was all too happy to stay clear of trouble and wouldn’t touch gang business on their own initiative.
“Besides, look at these corpses…”
The older officer pointed at the ground, speaking as if he had witnessed the scene unfolding: “No extra wounds, every single one a headshot, clean and sharp moves—a streetkid could never do this.”
“The killer is a real pro!”
“There’s more to this than meets the eye; there’s gotta be a grand conspiracy behind it!
Let’s just log our report and call it a day, don’t meddle in it.”
“Then the report…”
“Write suspect unknown, leads dead, file it and finish up.”
The older officer waved his hand impatiently.
He glanced at that bright yellow figure not far away: “REO Meat Wagon’s here.
Let them deal with the bodies, we’re pulling out.”
Listening to the officers’ perfunctory conversation, Gloria showed no expression on her face, yet her mind was already churning in turmoil.
She was dispatched by the center.
Scenes of 6th Street gang shootouts like this, she had responded to eighty if not a hundred times.
Normally, she would inspect the corpses right away to see if there were any intact implants to scoop up for eddies, but today, she didn’t have the slightest desire to profit.
Before heading out, she had turned the apartment upside down.
Yet the black duffel bag used to store the cyberware showed not a single trace, as if it had vanished into thin air.
The doors and windows at home were intact, without any sign of forced entry.
The only possibility…
David!
Ding—!
A holocall came in.
The official logo of Arasaka Academy bounced on the screen.
Gloria’s heart jolted violently.
She hurriedly walked to a relatively quiet corner beside the ambulance, turning her back to the scene to answer the call.
“Is this Ms.
Gloria Martinez?
This is the Arasaka Academy Academic Affairs Office.”
“Speaking.”
“Regarding your son, David Martinez.
He did not arrive at school today, nor is there any leave record.
According to academy regulations, we need to confirm the situation with his guardian.
May I ask if David is…”
Didn’t go to school?
Gloria’s brows knitted tightly in an instant.
Yet she quickly stabilized her tone, maintaining that respectful and deferential attitude toward the academy: “Ah, I am so sorry!”
“David wasn’t feeling well.
It was my oversight; I forgot to notify the academy in time.
On his behalf, may I request a day of leave from the academy?”
“Of course, Ms.
Martinez.
Wish him a speedy recovery.
Goodbye.”
The call disconnected.
Gloria leaned against the frame of the ambulance, gazing in the direction of Arasaka Academy, her heart sinking to the very bottom.
…
Watson district, Northside.
David twisted the throttle.
The wheels rolled over broken asphalt, kicking up clouds of dust.
On both sides of the road stretched continuous abandoned factory buildings, rusted steel frames exposed to the elements; there were no holographic ads here, replaced instead by Maelstrom graffiti slathered all over the walls.
Maelstrom was the largest gang in Northside, a bunch of lunatics devoted to illegal cyber-modding and extreme violence.
He didn’t know if they were crazy, or if the guy controlling him was crazier…
Just as David was lost in thought, a violent fit of coughing suddenly rang out from that voice in his mind.
Cough, cough—!
Immediately after, David’s field of vision tilted violently.
The motorcycle veered out of control like a wild horse, its front wheel slamming hard into a pile of scrap metal by the roadside.
A dizzying spin.
His body was thrown out by inertia, slamming onto the gravel ground and tumbling several times in succession; searing pain came from everywhere—his elbows, knees, and back.
David lay face down on the ground, his mouth full of dust, ears buzzing.
He slowly pushed himself up and climbed off the ground, a large patch of skin scraped raw on his palm, beads of blood seeping out of the wound.
“What the hell…”
David slapped the dust off his body, grumbling curses.
Before his words fully landed, he froze instantly.
I can talk?
David looked down at his blood-stained palm, his fingers trembling slightly from the pain.
“I…”
“Am free?”