Chapter 41 - Tuesday Night Bender Part 1

  I went to school, thinking about the last things I did with the crew the night before—wrapping Tanaka up in a plastic sheet, carting him off with the crew to some closed-up factory in Watson, the city’s industrial heartland, where there were a couple of unused acid vats with our names on it—after we had paid some Watson fixer for the privilege. After ensuring no bullshit and confirming Tanaka’s dissolution, Lucy and I headed home while I explained my situation.

  My main fear was that she’d be jealous or something, or worse yet, happy about how things had turned out. Instead, she had been nothing but supportive. ‘It wasn’t your fault’, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘we did the best we could’.

  It was the last bit of reassurance that had reminded me—almost with a start—that this had, in a way, been a group project. Lucy had helped me. She had made the hack better, in fact. We made the best effort that we could, given a shitty fucking circumstance.

  And if I wouldn’t blame her for how this went down, then… why should I blame myself?

  That was the logical way to look at things, but in the end, the facts remained: Jing Fei’s brother was dead, and she was in the hospital.

  Classes were mercifully quiet without Katsuo around. I had dreamed of this day, my first day in school without him hanging around like a specter, waiting to haunt me at any given moment.

  School felt unaccountably alien without him there. It felt… calm. Serene. The green room meditation that we did in homeroom every morning was… finally working.

  I meditated on my contrition, my feelings of apology, and my understanding that my debt to Jing Fei had drastically increased.

  I wondered who she would be engaged with now that Katsuo was no longer a serious option.

  It wasn’t until halfway through the day had passed when I realized—I had just killed a fucking Arasaka exec, then walked right into their fortress without a care. I was here, doing classes, the same shit every day, and… nothing. No ‘Saka ninjas swooping in to catch me—and knowing how Arasaka worked, they wouldn’t have wasted a fucking millisecond to do that if they were even slightly fucking suspicious of me.

  I was decently certain that I was 100% home free.

  And I wanted to feel fucking good about that, I really did.

  During my lunch hour, I decided to try giving Fei Fei a call.

  To my surprise, she picked up.

  David: Hey, Fei Fei. I… heard about last night.

  Fei-Fei: Hey, David. Yeah, it’s…

  God, what the hell was I doing? While I waited for her to finish her thought, I wondered what to say, or how I even had the right to speak to her after what I did, after all that I had cost her.

  Fei-Fei: things are fucked up, David. I don’t—I don’t even know how to describe it.

  David: I’m sorry. Can I see you today?

  Fei-Fei: See me? No it’s—no, David. It’s my brother. Katsuo, he… he shot him in the head. I watched.

  My heart thundered in my chest.

  David: I’m so, so sorry, Fei-Fei.

  Fei-Fei: and his mom. His own mom almost died. I don’t understand it—how could he become a cyberpsycho?

  I waited for her to continue, since I truly had nothing to say to that. I felt more liable to hurt her than to help her at this point.

  As the pause grew uncomfortably wrong, I inserted something—some bullshit, to keep the ball rolling, to keep the heat off me. God, I felt like such a coward.

  David: but Katsuo barely has any cyberware. How is that even possible?

  Fei-Fei: it was his fucking dad. That fucking psychopath! He was the one that started all this! He ripped his own son’s arms off because he was a disappointment at school! Gave him some shitty dated implants as a replacement, and told him to get better at school if he wanted better arms! I never even—I thought it was bad the time I heard it, but I never worried that he’d—that he’d— I can’t, this is too much. Just too much.

  …so that was the story, huh?

  Just as I expected, really.

  All this started because of Gotō.

  He was a damned bastard, that was for sure.

  I’m fucking glad I killed him.

  David: I’m so sorry for your loss, Fei-Fei

  Fei-Fei: Loss?

  David: your brother, right?

  Fei-Fei: He’s still alive. Trauma Team got to him quickly enough to stall the brain damage. But the sort of damage he had—there’s no guarantee it’ll even be the same Qiang when he wakes up. He’s in a coma while they’re fixing the worst of it.

  Wait, what?

  Hold on, he got shot in the head.

  And he was still alive.

  Trauma Team could do that much to keep a person alive.

  That much, huh…?

  Right, right. They could do that fucking much! So then why—

  …They had done absolutely fuckall to help my mom when her injuries had been miles less severe. Miles.

  I felt a flare of jealousy bubble up in my gut, replacing the lion’s share of the guilt I was carrying.

  In the end, could any of these corpos even count as human beings? Because a human died when they were killed—clearly, the rules only applied if you didn’t have two ennies to scrape together.

  Then you were just rotting meat dead on the highway next to a burning puddle of CHOOH2.

  FUCK!

  No, calm down. This wasn’t about me. This was about her. And her… almost loss.

  David: That’s good to hear. If he’s alive, then that’s all that matters.

  Fei-Fei: I know. You’re right. But… every time I close my eyes, I can’t help but replay the same thing, over and over. It’s like a BD scrolling into my eyelids, or whenever I think about something else. I still feel like I’m at that dinner.

  I took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling of the school cafeteria, and blew through my nose. Post-traumatic stress. Nanny gave her two cents on her specific situation and possible treatment options.

  [If the Trauma Team corporation are able to replace the lost brain matter of this Qiang with the proper cocktail of mutable neurons, astrocytes, and oligodendrocytes—something I did not expect anyone else but I was able to do given the dearth of available information on the Net—then I can see how his survival might be a possibility. Regarding Mei Jing Fei, Trauma Team should be well able to reverse this burgeoning disorder of hers with far less invasive means—particularly when spaced this acutely to the traumatic episode. My recommendation would be an extended period of virtual reality immersion using her own braindances in order to retrace her prior fear responses.]

  Nanny sent me a list of the specifics, underlined and bullet pointed with applicable citations, and I could only sigh—because as helpful as this was, there was no way I could possibly explain to Fei Fei how I all of a sudden had such expertise in neuroregenerative therapy of all goddamn things.

  Main takeaway was, a little money drizzled on top of life’s ails and everything was right as rain again. Trauma Team could do almost literally anything short of resurrecting people from the dead, if they paid enough.

  I understood now why corpos could bear to live in this hellhole. They could just choose not to be affected by… mortality, in general.

  Except Gotō. Motherfucker couldn’t choose shit now.

  Except… if they could reconstitute him out of a vat of liquified chemical slurry. Almost wouldn’t put it past them at this point.

  David: You’re stronger than you know, Fei-Fei. Trust in that.

  Fei-Fei: I’ll… I’ll try.

  David: and what about the guy? Did MaxTac get him or anything?

  Fei-Fei: …No, not MaxTac. His father managed to disarm and disable him. Then he had him de-chromed while he recovers at the med center. Apparently, there are ways to get back from cyberpsychosis if you act quickly enough. Or if you throw enough money at the problem.

  I rolled my eyes. That… was more obvious in retrospect.

  David: so he’s not taken in? They’re not booking him?

  Fei-Fei: booking him? In what? A hotel? He’s far too infirm—

  I blinked. Was she serious—

  David: I meant jail. He’s not going down for this? He almost killed you.

  Fei-Fei: there are major consequences to this. His days as a potential legacy hire are over for one, and his father will surely suffer the consequences from my company. And… this goes without saying, but our engagement has been annulled. Arasaka will… likely find me another man to marry when I come of age.

  So business as usual, minus the Tanakas—

  My visuals popped. A call from Jin was coming through.

  —minus the Tanakas, plus a particularly obnoxious Ryuzaki.

  Who, come to think of it, wouldn’t be an inappropriate choice for Jing Fei, as far as perverted old men measured these things. The thought was enough to make me queasy.

  I let the call continue ringing, but I did feel a slight urgency to end my call with Fei Fei.

  I was too… close to the problem. Too many conflicting emotions were making it difficult for me to maintain the right headspace. I couldn’t deny my anger and grief at my own mistake, but I also couldn’t deny this… growing antipathy of mine either.

  But in the end, I did owe Fei Fei a debt of gratitude and of contrition—now twofold, as I had wronged her twice in life-altering ways.

  She didn’t deserve my indignation that Katsuo could get off scot free after committing mass murder. Or that Trauma Team could pick and choose who lived or died like they preserved that fucking right or something.

  David: he deserves worse. Way-way worse.

  Fei-Fei: his father does. He’s a flawed person—deeply flawed. I never did like him as a person, but I could tell that he liked me very much, and… tried to communicate that. However he could. This will likely weigh on him for the rest of his life.

  I gnashed my teeth. Why the fuck should I care about that?

  David: He tried to kill me, Fei.

  Fei-Fei: I… managed to convince him not to. I was decently certain that he wasn’t just humoring me, either. It really looked like he would stop.

  I was tapping my foot under the table, clenching my fist. I really should end this call before I said something I’d regret.

  Fei-Fei: I hope you’ll find more peace in your school days, David. I really do. But I can’t help feeling this sympathy. He didn’t choose this engagement either.

  David: Right. I understand. And that doesn’t matter. Just know, Fei Fei, I’m… sorry you got hurt. And I’m here for you.

  Fei-Fei: Thanks. We’ll talk, okay? I just… I need to be alone today. I’m seeing a specialist about the daymares.

  David: I hope you have a quick recovery. And your brother as well.

  Fei-Fei: Thanks. Good bye.

  She finally hung up.

  Jin had stopped ringing.

  I called him back. He picked up almost immediately.

  Jin: what the fuck gives, gonk? Some other call more important than me?

  Oh, fuck no. I snorted, chuckling darkly. No.

  No.

  David: yes, actually. What is it?

  He paused for fifteen hundred milliseconds before responding. Surprised. But maybe not angry.

  Shit, I’d take it.

  Jin: get your head out of your ass and look up when I’m waving at you, you gonk.

  I looked up and scanned around the cafeteria. Jin was there, his table jam-packed with students—underclassmen of mine, all of them.

  Jin: come sit with us. We were talking about what happened last night.

  I got up and took my lunch over to their table, and stood next to Jin—who was at the edge of one of the benches. Both of them were already fully occupied, leaving me to stand awkwardly.

  I cut the call, “can’t sit anywhere.”

  Jin looked to the guy sitting opposite from him. “Scram. Now.”

  The guy—the Lawrence Saiba from what my scan told me—stood up haplessly and left the table—and his lunch. I pushed the tray forward and put my lunch down as I had a seat. “It’s all pretty fucked up from what I hear,” I feigned a chuckle, “—that is, if I even fucking heard it. Probably didn’t.”

  Jin grinned at me, “That’s what I like to fucking hear. You all got that?” he looked at the others, “Nothing, happened.” Then he turned back to me, “But if anything did happen, then my dear old cousin’s long gone—he ain’t coming back to school, that’s for certain.”

  “That right?” I raised an eyebrow, wondering where he was going to take this.

  Adopting his ‘late’ cousin’s orphaned bully victim, maybe? Do honor to his memory? Take his girlfriend/fiance for himself?

  I would fucking kill him, too. And his family.

  And this time, I’d make sure it was by my gun.

  The problem with indirect methods was that they were too unreliable. If anyone was going to fucking die by my actions, then from now on I’d have to make damn sure those were people I intended to send to hell. No more surprise stowaways on this ferry.

  Patiently, I waited for Jin to take me down a lovely conclusion. “It’s how the cookie crumbles, choom. So,” he shrugged, “step up.”

  I narrowed my eyebrows, “How exactly?”

  “You hang with me now,” he said, “you party with me. Rule this school with me. Show those pricks at Militech and Kang Tao High how it’s done. We’ll run the fucking city together one day.”

  What?

  Somehow, this was even worse than if he had decided to bully me. At least then, I’d have a roadmap to getting the fuck out of the situation by flatlining him.

  This was worse—it cost way too much time. Time I didn’t have to spend all freely.

  …but then again, it would be a nice change of pace to be at the top of the corp hierarchy than not. I looked to my side, at the host of corp students watching, their mouths shut. Allister and his buddy Wallace. No, Walter. They all looked varying degrees of shaken at the news—that Jin’s next right-hand man should be some no-name peon like me when his last guy had been the son of an Arasaka exec.

  I gave them a genial grin, “How do your best chooms here feel about that?”

  Jin laughed, “Fuck what they think.”

  Wow, this guy was gonna get his ass killed one day. I chuckled at the image. He laughed harder, thinking I was laughing with him. “I’m flattered, Jin, I really am.”

  His expression fell, “Don’t tell me you’re gonk enough to say no.”

  I rolled my eyes, “Chill. I’m not that fucking stupid. But what I will say is, I’m not always gonna be down to hang every time you are—I’ve got some personal biz, top priority, really important shit. And I’m in my last year, so I’m grinding pretty hard here too.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “What, you want me to see where I fit into your schedule?” Jin was grinning, but there was no softness in the expression, none at all. “You wanna fucking die, you punk?”

  God, this kid. “It’s a simple concept, Jin—I’ll go to fucking war by your side. And I haven’t failed you in anything you’ve asked of me yet. You wanna know why? Because I’m not like these other trustfund chucklefucks that think chips and tutors can buy them real skill. Nor am I stupid enough to let go of a preem opportunity when I see it fall into my lap. So now, why would I fucking pass you up when you’re a goddamn Redwood in the making?”

  “The fuck’s a Redwood?” Jin narrowed his eyes, but a slight grin betrayed some level of amusement at my pitch.

  Fuck if I knew. “It’s a big fucking tree. Big as a goddamn building. You might be one of the baby types right now, but there ain’t no denying that you’re going fucking far. You’re gonna grow. So while I do got my own personal biz that might tie me up from time to time—if I really can’t fucking avoid it, by the way—you’ll still be my top priority. That is, as long as you remember—you’re only as good as the people that work for you. I’m not a dog you can whip.”

  And I wasn’t going to budge on that.

  I would sooner kill him than budge on that.

  He glared at me, hammered his fist into the table hard—but not so hard that it cracked. His forearms were cybernetic, so he was clearly controlling his strength. And he didn’t really look angry despite the expression and his raised pulse as he leaned over the table to look at me closely. I met his gaze with a neutral one. We locked eyes, until—

  —Until, predictably, given that he was a goddamn psychopath, he broke into a grin, “You’re one real motherfucker, you know that, Davey-chan?”

  I’d throw in ‘letting the nickname slide’ into this business transaction as it didn’t really mean much for me. If he wanted to risk sounding like a perverted old man, that was his prerogative. “I’m just here to prosper, choom.”

  “When you say that, I can actually fuckin’ believe it,” Jin said. “Alright, fuck it. Drinks at Japantown tonight. You comin’ or what?”

  I had the afterparty with Maine and them—but I could sit that one out, probably. Or maybe I could go to both, see how far I could push Jin’s goodwill by being late? It would be good to learn his boundaries after all.

  “Sure,” I said, “who else is coming?”

  “Just you and me, choom.”

  My bullshit radar started blaring red.

  “…alright, then.”

  Yeah, Jin was definitely scheming something. I’d just have to see if it, whatever it was, was within the range of my tolerances for corpo bullshit or not.

  If not, finding a way to kill him was still on the table.

  000

  “Good news,” I said, holding my glass containing a neon blue cocktail, my fifth (sixth?) serving. Lucy and I were leaned up against my bike, away from most of the action happening at Turbo’s Diner—Pilar on his usual bullshit, Becca laughing raucously with the community, Maine and Dorio living it up, looking even closer than usual. Seeing that made me reassured that my efforts weren’t in vain—this sudden closeness would get Maine to see reason, no doubt. In a way, life was good. “Fei Fei’s brother didn’t really die.”

  “That’s her name?” Lucy asked.

  “Nickname. Mei Jing Fei, family name Mei.”

  “It was just a rumor then—with her brother?” Lucy asked.

  “Yeah, but—who could blame ‘em for thinking that? Guy got shot in the head, apparently,” I frowned. “Straight headshot. Those are sure killers, right? Nobody survives a fucking headshot.”

  “Not usually,” Lucy said, “But it’s more common than you might think. At just the right angle, you could pop a skull and they’d walk it off.”

  I furrowed my eyebrows, “Somehow, I don’t think this was just some ‘right angle’ stuff. I think, if Trauma Team gets to you, even if you’ve been dead, they would drag your ass back from hell, for what? A monthly eddie payment? They don’t even have to be on time, it seems.”

  “Hey,” Lucy said, grabbing my shoulder, “what are they gonna do about Tanaka senior?”

  I frowned, “what?”

  “Fuck. All. Because he’s deadder than fucking dead. We made goddamn sure of that. No, we fucking ghosted him. He’s soup in an illegal dumping ground in Watson. The fuck is Trauma Team gonna do about that?”

  I looked away from her slowly, to just face my front, thinking about—that. About Trauma. “You know, when I had my car accident, Trauma was first on the scene? The gangoons gunning at us were after a corpo client, that’s why. They saw my mom there and… they left her. ‘Not a policyholder’, they said. So… she’s dead because of—and Jing Fei’s brother…” I clamped my mouth shut with my hand and groaned. Fuck! “I don’t know how to talk about this without sounding like the worst fucking person on planet Earth. I really don’t.” It was just… so fucking unfair.

  And although I had never wanted to hurt Jing Fei or her brother, the fact that they could just… walk something like that off, put it behind them someday, while six of the Tanaka household’s staff could not…

  It made me feel small.

  Why didn’t we just have more fucking money? I had Nanny in me all these years—I could have done something, been something, if only I had acted earlier.

  Lucy was quiet. I appreciated that—the contemplative silence.

  “You know what’s also funny?” I broke the silence almost immediately after. “This mouthbreathing corp bitch from my school’s group chat—he said ‘luckily, nobody died’. Then went ‘uh, except for like, half a dozen staff members’. That’s how they fucking see us, Luce.” I nodded slowly, “That’s how those motherfuckers see us. As nothing. Not real people. And…”

  Lucy waited for me to continue, but mercifully, she blew wind into my sails with her next few words, “You don’t want to end up like that.”

  “I killed six random workers last night. Not corp muscle, not security. Staff. Househelp. Cleaners, butlers, whatever the fuck.”

  And how many does that make now? Including the four bodyguards and Tanaka himself… two hundred and forty.

  It was getting too easy nowadays.

  “I’m not doing that again,” I said, “on my mother’s urn, I’m not doing that again.” I took a long few gulps of the cocktail, finishing up in one go. Then I got up from the bike and turned to Lucy with outstretched arms. On her face was sad eyes and a small, encouraging grin. She was listening, waiting for me to make her proud. And I would. “I don’t know what the fuck I am, Lucy. Y’all call me a corpo, but the corpos call me trash. But if I had to pick one side that my heart belongs to, it would be trash. Hands down. Trash is real. Trash isn’t delusion. It’s… it’s there. And it’s real. But I… I’m in a weird position. I could…” I started whispering, almost giddy, “I could really do this, you know? To the top? Whatever the fuck? Make money? Kill a CEO or two? I could do that. But…” I stood up straight and gave a small nod, “that would be directionless flailing. And I don’t want to do that either. If I’m going to commit to any act, it would be for something… something big.”

  Yeah.

  Yeah!

  “Something greater than just me,” I continued. “Greater than becoming a legend, or making a mark or whatever the fuck. My name, spoken by every tongue?” I chuckled, shaking my head, “the fuck kind of a prize is that? Who’s really after that, anyway? I don’t give a fuck at this point. I hid my goddamn face for this gig—name recognition ain’t on my radar. But it’s gotta be something else,” I started pacing back and forth in front of Lucy, thinking. “Something else… something big. Yeah. Something else and something big.” I grinned widely at that.

  Lucy burst out laughing. I grinned at her, “What? Too gonky?”

  “Yes, way too gonky, but also… you. Something big. That’s what you wanna do, ain’t it? Always has been really, when I think back on it.”

  “Alright!” I grinned jovially, “I’ve got it! I’ve fucking got it!”

  “Spill!”

  “I don’t got a fucking clue where it starts, or where it’ll end up,” I said, “Don’t even know the middle, really. But what I do know? With every bone in my body?”

  I pointed at her. Then I turned around and pointed out the crew one by one. Maine and Dorio gave a wave. Pilar flipped the bird. Rebecca flipped two birds and grinned widely. Falco gave a suave one-handed salute.

  “We’re all doing it,” I said, “the big thing, whatever the fuck it is. And we’re doing it together. That’s the key. And however the fuck we do it, it’ll all end up one place—in a world where people don’t have to struggle the way folks do normally. No more megacorps. No more gangs. No more bullshit.”

  I looked at Lucy and gave her a nod, “and yeah, I also mean: no more Arasaka. I’m ending it all.”

  000

  After Jin gave the heads up, I took a cab to Jinguji to get new threads for the meet. Nothing too high-effort or visually flashy this time around. Currently, I was just looking to burn my fucking money to the ground—I could always get more anyway.

  So neomil’, it was.

  I was still riding on the alcohol I had forced myself to imbibe in the Tanaka afterparty. According to Maine, we had received the ‘highest commendations’ from Faraday. I hadn’t bothered to listen about the specifics. Didn’t matter. What was done was done anyway.

  I didn’t even fucking know what data we were looking for anyway. In fact, I was so profoundly incurious about that, I hadn’t even bothered to ask Lucy. The best I could piece together was that it was a weapon of some sort that Gotō’s department had headed. That, and a shortlist of potential candidates for testing the weapon, including Adam Smasher himself.

  Slightly spicy, but not enough for me to get on board with all that raucous joy. After all, I doubted that I had profited nearly as much as Faraday had. In fact, I doubted that my pay from all this had even slightly approached the true money value of my contributions.

  Which begged the question, why oh motherfucking why should I give a shit?

  My chooms were happy, and that was nice. I supposed that was the main reason why I should show out in the first place.

  But we’d have a ton more gigs on our way now that Maine had gotten his recommendation letter from that multi-eyed corpo wannabe.

  Once I arrived at Jinguji, I sent a message to Yamanaka that I was here, walking through the doors to the receptionist. She gave me some inane blabber while I waited for—

  “My man!” I laughed, going up to hug Yamanaka, the lanky fuck. He returned the love with his own hug.

  “Mr. Martinez! What can I do for you on this fine Tuesday evening?”

  “A black suit,” I said, “if you could crank up a suit’s worth to a hundred k eddies, I will take it. Right now. I don’t care. This is a special fucking event. My fortune has turned.” And in all honesty? I really wanted to see if that was even fucking possible. A hundred k for a suit? What the fuck? I had to know.

  Yamanaka’s eyes glittered, “Yes, sir!”

  000

  The mirror didn’t lie.

  I took a step back, adjusting the cuffs of my jacket as I took in the sight of myself under Jinguji’s pretty lighting. The suit was perfect, I’d give it that much—pitch black with an iridescent shimmer when it caught sharp lights, shifting between deep indigos and violets under the light. The fit was seamless, and according to Yamanaka’s blabby and sales-pitchy mouth: “tailored to perfection, the material clinging just enough to highlight your frame without restricting movement. The lapels are edged with subtle traces of circuit embroidery”, apparently the control unit for the suit’s more… ballistic applications.

  Yep. This fucking thing was bulletproof. And to an extent, shock proof. I could walk through gunfire without the bullets penetrating the material, and the weave would disperse the energy across a wide area, effectively rendering the bullet’s energy entirely harmless—depending on its velocity, of course. Fucking genius. I wondered just how much Pilar knew about this shit. Maybe we should make it a project together one day? Get these outfits out to the entire crew?

  I knew with so much experience though that this would prove a laughable defense to a real firearm. Thankfully, not most gonks on the streets sported tech weapons, really. We’d be safe for the most part, wearing something like this. I bet something like this was what Tanaka wore before we zeroed him. Maybe even stronger.

  Funny how the world worked, huh?

  Yamanaka stood behind me, arms crossed, a pleased smile playing at the corners of his lips.

  “The weave is a proprietary synthsilk blend,” he said smoothly, tone measured, professional. “Featherlight, breathable, but reinforced at key points for durability. The threading is heat-resistant, and the seams have been reinforced for longevity.”

  I ran a hand down the fabric. It moved like liquid, smooth but with a structure underneath that was nicely satisfying to my touch. It was like it sang to the senses, almost. Comfortable, flexible, but sturdy, in a way. It had a reassuring bit of weight. Made me feel like a working man wearing heavy industrial clothing, and not a show pony prancing around in a featherweight suit.

  That is, if I was using Yamanaka’s language. Honestly, the weight was highly adjustable, but I preferred the added weight, just to feel something hugging around my body. The fact that it made things cheaper was only a coincidence.

  Or maybe a sign that deep down, I’d always be on the ground with all the other people of Santo Domingo? Hell, I’d take it.

  Yamanaka continued, gesturing subtly toward the sleeves. “Integrated haptic feedback along the inner lining. It allows for seamless interfacing with any concealed augmentations or discreet inputs you may need. A common request among our more… discerning clientele.” So I could hack through it. Poorly, probably, but still an interesting design choice.

  I arched a brow. “You expect me to need that sort of thing?”

  His smile remained composed, diplomatic. “I would never presume, Mr. Martinez. But I do believe in ensuring my clients are prepared for any situation.”

  I let out a low chuckle, adjusting the collar. “That’s what I’m paying for, I guess.”

  He gave a small, knowing nod. “Indeed. Excellence is always worth the investment.”

  “Alright, give me the bill,” I said, “I’m taking this.”

  He shot me the payment details.

  It wasn’t quite one-hundred thousand, but not for a lack of trying on Yamanaka’s part. Eighty nine thousand, though. By far my most expensive single purchase. Amazing. The cost breakdown was illuminating enough, showing me all the aspects that made the outfit so expensive. I whistled. People really went and bought this shit, huh?

  I guess I did, too.

  Money exchanged hands, Yamanaka kept pretending that we were friends, and I returned that manufactured love with a wide grin and a hapless corp student attitude. Not too difficult—I was still riding on those drinks from earlier.

  From Jinguji, it was a straight shot to the Strip, a pedestrian road between Japantown and City Center known citywide for being a favorite haunt of corpos, with over a dozen high-end bars and other entertainments, where Jin waited for me at one fancy bar in particular. A bar, of course, but one so high end in fact that there wasn’t a line. Just a flock of enormous Animal bouncers eyeing every passer-by venomously.

  Until one saw me.

  Then his eyes lit up with respect and obeisance as he bowed and gestured for me to go in straight. No ID checks, no nothing. He knew me on sight? How?

  I had my doubts that it was just on account of my outfit. Jin must have given them my details for the guest invite.

  The inside of the bar was… not what I was expecting.

  An enormous old-style goddamn American flag was stretched across the back of the bar, one of the flags from before the Corporate Wars showing fifty stars for all fifty states of the time. Twin eight-foot-tall bronze statues of some bird or another—Bald Eagles, I think they were called—flanked the flag like they were the feathery guardians of a holy relic. A rendition of the fucking old American Constitution, starting with “We the people…” was painted on the opposite wall.

  The place was all wood paneling, all carefully curated vintage decor lit by yellow lighting low enough to cast deep shadows throughout, all overseen by the most pretentious-looking bartender I’d ever seen in my life manning a bar of wood so polished it looked practically gilded, in a white vest with his black sleeves rolled up. It was the most straight-up nationalistic American decor I’d ever seen—it had the aesthetic of a place trying way too hard to look like it was in the NUSA, not in Night City, which was a Free City—ex-USA, in other words.

  It wasn’t lost on me that the Militech logo was up on the side of the bar as I’d walked in. Not in an ownership sense, but as… decorative kitsch?

  The actual crowd was more disappointing, but then again, it wasn’t peak hours. I mostly saw kids. White, obviously mostly straight-up Americans by blood. Why were they here? If they were Militech, they were the babies—hanging out here in a place that evoked the aesthetic of an old world American dive bar. It only evoked that sense, however—anyone with decent optics could see all the real deal wood lying around. The owner must have spent a lot of money to make this place look like a redneck hangout. Old world kitsch—a celebration of limited means—, but this was the kind of kitsch that rich kids threw on like a costume—slumming it in a sanitized environment where the biggest risk was a watered-down drink.

  So, textbook neokitsch, really. All the things that jingoistic NUSA poors loved, but cranked up to eleven in cost.

  I laughed.

  It was the kind of laughter that crept up from deep in my gut, unbidden. The absurdity of it all. It wasn’t possible for me to go cyberpsycho—not with how little chrome I had, not with Nanny watching my brain waves like a hawk—but I could understand the impulse. The sheer urge to rip through this crowd of faux-rebels and social tourists just to see if they’d still be cosplaying poor when their blood hit the floor.

  Jin called.

  Jin: Over here, gonk. The hell are you laughing at anyway?

  David: Ahh… you wouldn’t get it. What the fuck is this joint? Anyway, where the hell are you?

  I scanned the bar and caught sight of him, perched casually on a stool, grinning like he’d just won a bet. Seated next to him were two guys I had never seen before. One was big, real big—broad-shouldered, built like a bouncer, with a muscular frame enhanced by the faint sheen of chrome. His arms were plated, the realskin covering most of them except for his hands, which were left bare—black metal gleaming under the dim light. His skin was a deep brown, almost blending with the dark cyberware, and his eyes flicked to me with a cool, appraising sharpness. He wore an open-chested short-sleeved pale beige fur jacket—revealing either EMP threading or chrome on his chest.

  The other guy? Handsome. The kind of effortless handsome that pissed me off on principle. Pale-skinned, tall, with sharp features and eyes that glinted with something wry, something smug—like he had already decided he was the cleverest guy in the room. He leaned back, entirely at ease, fingers drumming lazily on his thigh like he had all the time in the world.

  I walked up to them.

  “As promised, David Martinez, my main choom,” Jin said, laughing. To my surprise, he had also chosen to wear something more understated—a black pair of pants and a black shirt, no buttons, with a large black haori to top it off. The lapels ran down to the bottom of the haori, blood red in color, matching the floral patterns at the bottom of the coat. They looked like some popular Japanese flower—though not cherry blossoms or spider lillies, so I was completely blank.

  [The morning glory.]

  Sure. The lowest part of his pants matched that pattern as well. He made me feel like I had overdressed.

  …wait, what were we doing again? Right: he was introducing me to a pair of gonks.

  Ah, right. The bullshit. The bullshit that I knew, knew was coming when Jin goddamn Ryuzaki had invited me, solo, out for drinks.

  I slid onto the stool next to him, giving the two guys a nod before doing a double take. My eyes locked onto the bulkier one, something about him clicking in my brain. I smacked my head, trying to place it.

  “Damon? No, Darius!” My grin widened as it hit me. I snapped repeatedly as I pointed at him, “I kicked your ass in Holo Battleship!”

  Jin nearly fell off his stool laughing. “Yeah, in the chrome!”

  Darius growled, rolling his shoulders, the servos in his arms whirring softly. “This pipsqueak Netrunner wannabe’s your guy?” Wannabe? That’s fucking funny. How much time would it take for me to breach his system and introduce him to some friends beyond the Blackwall?

  “Nah, man, you got it all wrong,” Jin said, “see this gonk? He’s sporting a Kerenzikov,” he said, pointing at me. What? Wait. Wasn’t that the story that Katsuo went with after he couldn’t beat my ass? And he went and told his cousin about that humiliation? Eh, he probably left the details out. Still, decent cover story, I could use that. “He’s a real-deal psycho in the making.”

  Darius glared at me, “You? A Kerenzikov? You think a bitch like you could—” I held a hand up to forestall him and pinged the bar’s Net, putting in an order of three shots of Teq. I never quite saw the appeal of drunkenness, not until now at least. But hell if I wasn’t going to enjoy whatever the fuck was happening.

  “Me, personally,” I began, “I think you’re a bitch. That your entire bloodline are bitches, down to the last ten generations. And I think your mute boyfriend over to the side is an even bigger bitch.”

  Jin grinned like someone had just given him a birthday present.

  Darius slammed his hands at the counter, “You talk shit about my boyfriend, they’ll scrape you off the asphalt with a shovel. That’s on god and the founding fathers, bitch.”

  I blinked at that insult. Then blinked some more. Wow, the NUSA nationalistic jingoism was off the charts with this one. Also, way to make me seem like the asshole here!

  “Well, then you’re an even bigger bitch, for getting so tilted over trash talk.” The boyfriend in question gave me a withering glare. “And don’t they teach you history at Militech? Founding fathers? You know they’d have kept you as a slave, right?” I was fucking terrible at humanities subjects, but that tidbit seemed like kind of a no-brainer, no?

  “The fuck you just say?!”

  My eyes turned back to my so-called ‘choom’ as I put one finger up to forestall Darry’s freakout. “So, Jin, what’s the deal with these Militech asswipes anyway?”

  “Don’t you fucking ignore me!”

  “You said you’d go to war with me,” Jin said, “You wanna back that up?”

  I raised an eyebrow at Darius, and his boyfriend. Then I looked back at Jin, “What’s that mean?”

  Jin snorted, “Darius thinks there ain’t a person in Saka Academy strong enough to whoop his ass.”

  Fucking—HAH! I couldn’t believe this.

  “Did you make Katsuo fight him?” I asked, after I’d stopped chuckling.

  “Katsuo hates fighting!” Jin laughed, “that bitch never knew how to stand on business.” Wow, Katsuo! Nice going! With, what, those Strongarms 400 he kept harping about? Seriously?

  What a pure-bred bitch he was.

  “I’m… I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I said, I sighing dramatically. “I don’t do all that fighting stuff.” The bartender arrived with a tray of three tequila shots. I downed one and felt a refreshing burn go down my throat. Despite myself, I began to grin, and not in a nice way, “I mean, I really don’t. So, as long as there ain’t a way for you two chucklefucks to prove that I’m a fighter, then I guess I ain’t one after all, right?”

  The boyfriend rolled his eyes, “Just skip ahead to the part where you say you’re too chickenshit to fight and spoil your overpriced suit.”

  “Hah!” I laughed, slamming my fist down on the table. Softly. It still shook the drinks around my tray, making them ring slightly. I grabbed a shot and upended it into my gullet, “That what you think this is? Overpriced?”

  “Man!” Jin chuckled derisively, “Those threads? That’s what you call overpriced? Way to fucking expose yourself!” he said, not to me, but to the boyfriend. “That suit ain’t even a hundred k flat and you think it’s something to argue about? What, they don’t pay you fuckers at Militech?”

  …Not even? “Hey now,” I said, shelving that thought for later, “Don’t start provoking the patriots. These are real NUS citizens! Not like us immigrants—who still came here and did it better than these idiots ever could.”

  “Preach!” Jin whooped. He turned a devilish grin at me, “I fucking knew you were about this shit! I knew it!” he turned to Darius, “You heard the fucking guy, didn’t you? Let’s get ourselves a place with no cameras, no being a bitchboy trying to record the shit, and you’ll have your smackdown.”

  “Before we do this,” I said, raising my third shot and downing it in one, “I gotta warn you, Darius, I really do: I’m from Santo Domingo. I know that might not mean shit to you. That’s fine. I’ll remind you. When I’m raining down punches like motherfucking airstrikes on your sorry face, maybe then you’ll realize what it means to fight a Martinez.”

  The way his—Militech’s—motherfucking army had razed everything south of Texas, made it all into the hellhole of poverty and death that it currently was…

  Ain’t like I spent much time dwelling on that, wasn’t like I was from there, but also…

  It ain’t like I forgot shit either, not when it came to being a Martinez, and remembering that our entire bloodline had an axe to grind with Militech.

  Well, when my family wasn’t making a eurobuck off of them at least.

  Darius glared at me for several seconds before growling. “Still doesn’t mean shit to me. And won’t, ever, you wetback bitchboy.”

  Thank you. I grinned at him, through bared teeth. Thank you! Went and made my fucking day.

  I slammed my shot glass down on the tray so hard that it broke. I received an invoice almost immediately. I briefly chuckled and paid the amount before getting up, “Then you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Jin wanted to see if I’d go to war for him? For this, I’d give him a fucking campaign.