“Phew!”
David exhaled deeply, pushing himself up off the floor.
Although his movements were still somewhat stiff and weak, pulling a pistol trigger was definitely not an issue!
Recalling the process of obtaining the Bounce-Back earlier, he recited in his mind:
Lexington…
The slender, compact olive-green smart pistol appeared in his hand.
Sure enough.
All it took was a single thought to retrieve that gear…
David turned his head to look at Doc.
Doc was still lying in the chair, the indicator lights on the BD wreath flashing rhythmically, a weird smile even floating on his shriveled face—he had probably seen something good in the braindance.
“…”
David’s fist slowly clenched.
He stood up and walked toward Doc, throwing a full-force punch straight into that shriveled face.
Letting Doc die in a sweet dream would be way too easy on him!
“Who?!”
Doc squealed like a rat whose tail had been stepped on.
He frantically tore off the BD wreath, smashing it onto the floor, and tumbled off the recliner awkwardly.
He swore that whoever threw that punch, he would make them pay!
But when he looked up and saw the person in front of him, all the blood in his body instantly ran cold.
“Me,” David said, shoving the gun into the doctor’s mouth without hesitation.
“David Martinez!”
With a gun in his mouth, the doctor’s eyes were filled with utter confusion and terror.
Why was David pointing a gun at him?
He was supposed to be lying on the floor like a dead dog, waiting for 6th Street to come gut him!
Circumstances were stronger than the man.
The doctor wanted to beg for mercy, but unable to speak, he could only mumble muffled pleas.
Watching this, David had no intention of sparing Doc; instead, his heart grew even colder and harder.
He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Bang—!
With a gunshot, the doctor’s head jerked violently, a burst of warm blood exploding and splattering across the entire wall.
His eyes gradually went dull.
His body went limp, slowly collapsing onto the floor.
“…”
David looked at the corpse before him.
He didn’t throw up, nor did he shake.
He just leaned against the wall, slowly sliding down to sit, staring at his blood-stained hands for a long moment.
As an apostle chosen by an evil spirit, he really wanted to pray right now.
But he had never believed in religion, nor had he ever memorized any prayers.
David could only clutch the decorative cross necklace on his chest, opening his mouth to utter a quiet murmur:
“God bless…”
He paused for a moment to recover.
Then he turned around and walked toward the exit.
6th Street was looking for him, and dangerous figures roaming the grey area like Doc would all become their accomplices.
Santo Domingo was no longer safe.
He had to leave—preferably leave Night City altogether…
Heavy-hearted, David opened the door to the underground clinic.
The afternoon sunlight didn’t spill into the doorway as expected, but was blocked out completely by a hulking figure.
He looked up.
The face before him was thick-jawed and heavy, with a messy full beard, a faded stars-and-stripes tattoo on his left cheek, and a badge sewn onto his worn leather jacket.
6th Street!
David’s scalp tingled with numbness.
He instinctively took a step back, but quickly halted.
Doc’s corpse was inside the clinic.
Stepping back meant walking into a trap, but moving forward, this guy was blocking the doorway—he couldn’t even run.
He was really dead meat this time…
For a moment, David froze on the spot, cold sweat pouring down his back, not daring to move half a step.
The two just stared at each other like that.
One second.
Two seconds.
“What are you looking at, dumbass!”
The brute stared at him, his gaze shifting from scrutiny to impatience: “Don’t block the way, get lost!”
He shoved David’s shoulder with a heavy palm.
David stumbled aside, his back hitting the doorframe.
He gasped in pain, but felt a surge of relief inside.
Almost forgot—they didn’t know he was the killer yet…
David kept his head low, trying his best to look like an ordinary customer.
He forced a smile as he walked past the 6th Street gang members, hurrying toward the motorcycle parked nearby.
He could feel numerous fierce glares scraping across his back like knives, but no one followed him; they just cursed and stepped into the clinic.
David straddled the bike, inserted the key into the ignition, his fingers trembling slightly.
“Fast, fast, fast…”
The moment he turned the key, angry roars erupted from inside the clinic:
“Doc’s been killed!
That kid did it!
Stop him!”
“I knew that gunshot earlier sounded off!”
“He’s escaping on our bike!”
“Dumbass, that’s his ride!
Catch him!”
The roar of the engine was exceptionally piercing in the quiet waterfront neighborhood.
David didn’t look back.
He twisted the throttle all the way, the bike shooting out like an unbridled wild horse, plunging right into the main traffic of Mission Waterfront Boulevard.
In the rearview mirror, the brute who had just walked in rushed out, pointing in his direction and bellowing at the street corner.
Immediately after, two SUVs painted with stars and stripes burst out from around the corner, roaring in pursuit.
“Damn it!”
David pinned the throttle to the floor.
The salty tang of sea breeze and the warehouse buildings faded rapidly, the dust of the industrial zone kicked up into the air by the motorcycle’s slipstream.
He rode west along Mission Waterfront Boulevard, driving like a headless fly, nearly crashing into sightseers along the road several times.
This flight had no destination; David only sought to throw off his pursuers.
But the two SUVs behind him latched on like mad dogs, refusing to let go.
The distance grew closer and closer.
The window of one SUV rolled down.
A 6th Street guy wearing sunglasses raised a submachine gun, preparing to fire.
A bald buddy beside him slapped him across the back of the head: “Dumbass!
The boss said someone’s pulling the strings behind this kid, he wants to question him!
We need him alive!”
“Shoot the tires!
Shoot his fucking tires!”
Sunglasses lowered his barrel with a pained expression, pulling the trigger.
Zip—!
David heard the whiz of bullets behind him.
Immediately after, the bike frame shuddered violently, a severe wobble shaking the rear wheel.
The tire was hit!
David gripped the handlebars tightly, trying to stabilize the out-of-control motorcycle.
He forcefully swerved right into the junction for the Rancho Coronado loop, wanting to use the narrow alleys of the farm area to shake his pursuers.
But that bullet had nearly blown the entire tire apart.
Though the bike could still run, its speed was dropping, and the loss of control was getting worse.
In the rearview mirror, the two SUVs had already closed in—the closest one less than twenty meters away from him.
“Kid!
Run!
Why’d you stop running?!” Sunglasses leaned half his body out of the window, sneering at him: “Once Uncle catches you, you’re gonna suffer big time!”
David had no time to mind him.
He desperately handled the nearly falling-apart bike, riding west along the Farm Loop.
The bike was near scrap, and Santo Domingo was 6th Street territory—every alley, every intersection, they knew far better than him.
David was running out of steam.
Ahead was the intersection of Farm Loop and Arroyo’s main thoroughfare.
Two stars-and-stripes painted SUVs suddenly charged out from the westbound lane, slanting hard across the center of the junction, completely blocking his path.
Pinched from front and back, no way out!
David slammed on the brakes.
The motorcycle skidded a sharp, screeching arc across the road.
He panted heavily, looking at the surrounding 6th Street members closing in.
“Get off.”
Sunglasses jumped down from the SUV.
“Those six under the overpass—you killed ’em, didn’t you?” He held a metal baseball bat in his hand, a fierce smile on his face: “Speak!
Why target us 6th Street?!”
“It was a demon!”
David looked at the surrounding 6th Street gang, trying to explain the truth: “A demon possessed me and killed them!”
A demon?
Hearing this, the surrounding 6th Street members froze for a second, then burst into roars of laughter.
“Hahaha, Barnes and the guys were so fucking unlucky!”
“Turns out he’s a cyberpsycho!”
“Boss!
No need for chatter, just end him right now!”
Looking at the eager 6th Street gang, David remained completely motionless.
Not because he didn’t want to move, but because he couldn’t.
The muscle relaxant had long been completely broken down alongside the adrenaline surge, but his loss of control was another situation—a situation he was all too familiar with.
As that spine-chilling sensation swept across his entire body, he heard the devilish whisper emerge in his mind once again:
“Huh?”
“Where the hell did it take me?”