“Phew!” David took a long, deep breath and pushed himself up from the floor.
Though his movements were still stiff and weak, pulling a trigger would be no problem at all.
He recalled the process of obtaining the Bounce Back inhaler earlier and thought the word in his mind.
*Lexington…* The slim, olive-drab smart pistol materialized directly in his palm.
Just as he thought.
All it took was a single thought to summon the equipment…
David turned his head toward Doc.
Doc was still slouched in his chair, the indicator lights on his braindance wreath blinking rhythmically.
A bizarre smile hovered on his wizened face—he was likely enjoying something sweet in the braindance.
“…” David’s fist slowly clenched.
He stood up, walked over to Doc, and threw a full-force punch straight into that shriveled face.
Letting Doc die in a sweet dream would be far too easy on him!
“Who’s there?!” Doc shrieked like a rat whose tail had been stepped on.
He wildly ripped the braindance wreath off his head, slammed it onto the floor, and tumbled off the recliner in a panic.
He swore that no matter who threw that punch, he was going to make them pay!
But when he looked up and saw who was standing in front of him, his blood ran cold.
“Me,” David said, jamming the gun into the Ripperdoc’s mouth without hesitation.
“David Martinez!” With the barrel crammed into his mouth, the doctor’s eyes filled with utter confusion and terror.
How could David be pointing a gun at him?
The kid was supposed to be lying on the floor like a dead dog, waiting for 6th Street to arrive and gut him!
But reality was unforgiving.
The doctor wanted to beg for mercy, but unable to speak, he could only whimper and whine helplessly.
Watching this, David felt no desire to spare Doc; if anything, his heart turned even colder and harder.
He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
*Bang!* With a sharp gunshot, the doctor’s head jerked violently.
A splatter of warm blood burst outward, painting the entire wall.
The light in his eyes rapidly faded.
His body went limp and slowly collapsed onto the floor.
“…” David stared at the corpse before him.
He didn’t vomit, nor did he shake.
He simply leaned against the wall and slid down, staring at his bloodstained hands for a long time.
As an apostle chosen by an evil spirit, he desperately wanted to pray right now.
But he had never been religious.
And he had certainly never memorized a single prayer.
David could only clutch the decorative crucifix necklace on his chest, open his mouth, and murmur under his breath: “God bless…” He caught his breath for a moment.
Then he turned around and walked toward the door.
6th Street was looking for him, and dangerous scum operating in the gray zone like Doc would all act as their accomplices.
Santo Domingo was no longer safe.
He had to leave.
Preferably…
leave Night City altogether…
With a heavy heart, David opened the door to the underground clinic.
The afternoon sunlight didn’t pour into the doorway as expected; instead, it was completely blocked by a towering, muscular figure.
He raised his head.
The face before him was thick and fleshy, framed by a messy beard.
A faded Stars and Stripes tattoo covered his left cheek, and a patch was sewn onto his worn leather jacket.
A 6th Street ganger!
David’s scalp tingled with dread.
Instinctively, he took a step back, but quickly checked his feet.
Doc’s corpse was right inside the clinic.
Retreating meant walking into a trap, but going forward was impossible with this brute blocking the doorway—he couldn’t even run.
I’m dead meat this time…
For a moment, David froze in place.
Cold sweat poured down his back, yet he didn’t dare move an inch.
The two stared at each other.
One second.
Two seconds.
“What’re you staring at, dumbass?!” The brute glared at him, his gaze shifting from scrutiny to impatience.
“Don’t block the way!
Move!” He shoved David’s shoulder with a heavy palm.
David stumbled to the side, his back slamming into the doorframe.
He gasped from the pain, but felt a surge of relief in his heart.
I almost forgot…
They don’t know I’m the killer yet…
David kept his head down, trying his best to look like a normal customer.
Forcing an awkward smile, he squeezed past the 6th Street gangers and hurried toward the motorcycle parked nearby.
He could feel numerous harsh, lethal gazes cutting into his back, but nobody followed him; they just cursed under their breath and shooed themselves into the clinic.
David mounted the bike, jammed the key into the ignition, his fingers trembling slightly.
“Come on, come on, hurry…” The instant he turned the key, enraged roars erupted from inside the clinic: “Doc’s dead!
That kid did it!
Stop him!” “I knew those gunshots sounded wrong!” “He’s stealing our bike!” “Dumbass, that’s HIS bike!
Get after him!” The roar of the engine sounded brutally loud in the quiet waterfront neighborhood.
David didn’t look back.
He slammed the throttle open, and the motorcycle launched forward like a wild horse, plunging straight into the main traffic of Mission Waterfront Boulevard.
In the rearview mirror, the brute who had just entered was barging back out, pointing in his direction and bellowing toward the corner.
Immediately after, two SUVs painted with the Stars and Stripes peeled out from around the bend, roaring in hot pursuit.
“Dammit!” David pinned the throttle to the max.
The salty sea breeze and warehouse buildings blurred past, dust from the industrial district kicked up into a whirlwind by his bike’s wake.
He sped west along Mission Waterfront Boulevard, zipping around like a headless fly, nearly clipping pedestrians on the sidewalk several times.
This escape had no destination; David only wanted to lose his pursuers.
But the two SUVs behind him clung to his tail like rabid dogs.
The distance shrank.
A window rolled down on one of the SUVs.
A 6th Street ganger wearing sunglasses raised a submachine gun, aiming to fire.
His bald partner smacked him hard across the back of the head.
“Dumbass!
Boss said someone’s pulling the kid’s strings and he wants answers!
We need him alive!” “Shoot the tires!
Shoot the fuckin’ tires!” Rubbing his sore head, Sunglasses lowered his gun barrel and pulled the trigger.
*Whiz—!* David heard the air crack behind him.
Then the bike shuddered violently as the rear wheel wobbled out of control.
The tire was hit!
David gripped the handlebars for dear life, trying to stabilize the vehicle.
He forced a hard right onto the exit for Coronado Farm Road, hoping to lose them in the narrow alleyways of Rancho Coronado.
But that bullet had practically blown out the entire tire.
Though the bike could still move, its speed was dropping, and it was becoming harder and harder to handle.
In the mirror, the SUVs were closing in fast, the nearest less than twenty meters away.
“Kid!
Run!
Why aren’t you running?!” Half-leaning out the window, Sunglasses sneered at him.
“When uncle catches ya, you’re in for a world of pain!” David had no time for his taunts.
He struggled desperately to control the rattling motorcycle, tearing west along Coronado Farm Road.
The bike was nearly scrapped, and Santo Domingo was 6th Street turf—they knew every alley and intersection far better than he did.
David was running out of options.
Ahead lay the intersection of Coronado Farm Road and the main Arroyo thoroughfare.
Two more Stars-and-Stripes SUVs suddenly surged out from the westbound lane, swerving sideways right in the center of the intersection, cutting off his path completely.
Pincer maneuver—nowhere to run!
David slammed on the brakes.
The bike squealed loudly, leaving a dark arc on the asphalt.
Panting heavily, he watched the surrounding 6th Street members close in.
“Get off the bike,” Sunglasses said, leaping down from his SUV.
“Those six guys under the overpass—you killed ’em, didn’t ya?” He swung a metal baseball bat in his hand, a vicious smile on his face.
“Spill it!
Why are you targeting 6th Street?!” “It was a demon!” David stammered, looking at the encircling gang as he tried to explain the truth: “A demon possessed me and killed them!” A demon?
Hearing this, the 6th Street gangers froze for a second, then burst into uproarious laughter.
“Bwahaha!
Barnes and the boys sure were unlucky!” “Turns out he’s a cyberpsycho!” “Boss!
Skip the talk, just waste him!” Seeing the gangers surging forward, David stood completely still.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to move; he couldn’t.
The muscle relaxants had long been burned away by adrenaline.
His loss of control was something else entirely.
Something horrifyingly familiar.
As a spine-chilling sensation swept through his entire body, he heard the devil’s whisper echo in his mind once again: “Huh?” “Where the hell did I end up?
Am I still in China?”