“Finally got a ride…” Hearing the voice echo in his head, David’s mind was a complete mess.
Slaughtering 6th Street…
just for a damn bike?
Did this lunatic have any idea how much trouble he’d just brought down on them?!
A 6th Street squad leader and his crew were dead.
They would never let this slide!
Jake, however, couldn’t care less.
Looking at the inventory update notifications popping up on screen, he leaned back slightly in his chair.
[Obtained: €$1,054] [Obtained: M-10AF Lexington Smart Pistol × 1 (Mass-Produced)] [Obtained: M251S Ajax Power Assault Rifle × 1 (Mass-Produced)] [Obtained: Frag Grenade × 2 (Mass-Produced)] [Obtained: 6th Street Custom Motorcycle × 1] [Obtained: Bounce-Back Mk.
1] [New Item Added: Bounce-Back Mk.
1] “Mass-produced?” Jake rubbed his heavy chest and let out a couple of light coughs.
He had seen these guns and meds in Cyberpunk 2077 before, but the item tiering here was slightly different.
Judging by the gray-white icon color, it likely corresponded to the “Common” rarity in other games.
*Works for me.
Better than no guns at all…* Though they were the lowest tier of gear and supplies, Jake was fairly satisfied with the haul.
At least he had a complete kit now.
From David’s perspective, however, he only saw the guns and medicine his hands touched vanish into thin air, leaving no weight on his body whatsoever.
Still reeling from the combat, he didn’t even register the impossibility of it.
David’s gaze drifted over to the suit trembling in the corner.
The man was slumped on the ground, his face paler than a corpse’s.
When David looked over, their eyes met for a fraction of a second.
David’s empty, hollow stare looked like that of a cold-blooded executioner.
It sent a violent shudder through the suit, who instantly buried his head into his chest, wishing he could sink into the pavement.
Jake ignored the drone.
He forced David to grab the black tote bag and swing a leg over the motorcycle.
*Vroom—!* David twisted the throttle.
The engine roared, and the scenery rapidly blurred into a backward rush.
The motorcycle zipped nimbly through traffic and pedestrians, speeding toward Watson District.
*** Santo Domingo, under the overpass.
The crime scene had been lazily cordoned off by the NCPD with yellow tape.
Cruisers with flashing red and blue lights were parked crookedly around the perimeter.
Two uniformed officers leaned against a car door, smoking cigarettes, not even bothering to step inside the core scene.
“Six dead, all 6th Street.
Barnes’s crew—the ones collecting protection money around here,” the younger officer reported casually into his radio.
“Did the cameras catch it?” the older officer asked.
“Nope,” the younger cop replied.
“6th Street pulls protection scams here.
Leaving cameras running would just complicate things for them, so they smashed ’em long ago.” “Hm.
What about the corp rat?” the older cop pressed.
“Pissed his pants.
Keeps swearing he didn’t see a thing,” the young officer shook his head.
“Can’t get a damn thing out of him.” “Though other witnesses did say…” Recalling his earlier questioning, he continued, “The shooter rode off on a 6th Street bike.” “Heh, gang infighting, or some bored merc with nothing better to do.” The older officer sneered, exhaling a plume of gray smoke.
“Shit like this happens three to five times a week in Santo Domingo.
It went down on 6th Street turf, so it’s not our job to poke our noses in.” Regarding the death of their own members, 6th Street would mobilize their own people to investigate and retaliate without involving the police.
The NCPD was more than happy to dodge the paperwork and stay out of internal gang business.
“Besides, look at these bodies…” The old cop pointed at the ground, as if reconstructing the scene.
“No extraneous wounds.
Single shots to the dome, clean and professional.
A street kid could never pull this off.” “The shooter was extremely professional!” “There’s something way bigger going on here—a grand conspiracy!
Let’s just log it and get the hell out.
Don’t go digging.” “What about the report…?” “Write suspect unknown, leads dried up, file it away.” The old cop waved his hand impatiently.
He glanced at a bright yellow figure approaching in the distance.
“REO’s here.
Let them handle the bodies.
We’re rolling.” Listening to the officers’ dismissive conversation, Gloria kept her face stoic, though her mind was in total turmoil.
She had been dispatched by the REO center.
Scenes like a 6th Street shootout were something she’d responded to nearly a hundred times.
Usually, she would immediately inspect the corpses to see if there were any intact implants she could strip for extra cash, but today, she had zero appetite for salvage.
Before leaving the house, she had turned the apartment upside down.
The heavy black tote bag containing the cyberware was nowhere to be found, as if it had vanished into thin air.
The doors and windows were completely intact, with no signs of forced entry.
Which meant there was only one possibility…
David!
*Ring—!* A holographic call chimed.
The screen displayed the official logo of Arasaka Academy.
Gloria’s heart skipped a beat.
She quickly walked to a quiet corner beside the ambulance, turning her back to the crime scene before answering.
“Hello, is this Ms.
Gloria Martinez?
This is the Arasaka Academy Administration Office.” “Yes, speaking.” “Regarding your son, David Martinez.
He did not show up to school today, and there is no record of an absence request.
According to academy policy, we need to verify the situation with his guardian.
May I ask if David is…” *Didn’t go to school?* Gloria’s brows knitted tightly.
However, she quickly smoothed out her voice, maintaining her usual deeply respectful tone toward the academy.
“Ah, I am so sorry!” “David wasn’t feeling well today, and it was my oversight—I forgot to notify the school in time.
May I request a day of leave on his behalf?” “Of course, Ms.
Martinez.
We wish him a speedy recovery.
Goodbye.” The call disconnected.
Gloria leaned against the ambulance, staring in the direction of Arasaka Academy, her heart sinking to the very bottom.
*** Watson District, Longshore North.
David twisted the throttle.
The tires crunched over cracked asphalt, kicking up clouds of dust.
On both sides of the road stood endless abandoned factories with rusted steel frames exposed to the elements.
There were no holographic ads here, replaced instead by walls covered in Maelstrom graffiti.
Maelstrom was the largest gang in Watson North—a bunch of psychos obsessed with illegal cyber-modifications and extreme violence.
David couldn’t tell who was crazier: them, or the entity controlling his body…
Just as David was lost in thought, a violent coughing fit suddenly echoed in his mind.
“Cough, cough—!” Immediately after, David’s field of vision tilted violently.
The motorcycle veered out of control like a bucking bronco, its front wheel slamming hard into a pile of scrap metal by the roadside.
A dizzying blur followed.
Inertia threw his body clear off the bike, slamming him onto the gravel ground.
He tumbled repeatedly, sharp, burning pain flaring up across his elbows, knees, and back.
David lay sprawled on the ground, mouth full of dirt, ears ringing loudly.
He slowly pushed himself up and crawled to his feet.
A large patch of skin on his palm was scraped raw, beads of blood oozing from the fresh wound.
“What the…” David dusted himself off, cursing under his breath.
Before the words fully left his mouth, he froze.
*I can speak?* David stared down at his bloodied palm, his fingers trembling slightly from the sting.
“I’m…” “Free?”