Chapter 16

Hmm… Honestly, this city’s so damn rotten, I’m starting to think burning the whole place down might be the best option.

After having Maine and the others take out a few more Scavenger dens, I sifted through the intel we’d gathered. David, now working as one of the Edgerunners, seemed livelier than he had in the anime, throwing himself into jobs with gusto.

…I’ll admit, I do feel a little bad about his kill count creeping toward the high double digits. But it was necessary to maintain the image of a heroic team cleaning up Night City’s scum. Hell, if we kept at it like V in the original game—wiping out NCPD cases one after another—we might actually lower the crime rate through sheer brute force.

For now, we’ve been targeting Scavengers, since every gang in the city despises those bottom-feeders anyway. By carefully picking our fights, we’ve avoided stepping on any major factions’ toes. Plus, we’re focusing on the real scum—the ones preying on ordinary, defenseless people. You’d think they’d thank us for it.

"…Still, something’s off with a few corps lately. Some of ’em are way too cozy with the Scavengers."

Smaller companies—nothing on the scale of Arasaka or Militech—but with business models built around Scavenger operations. The kind of black, tar-like filth that makes you sick. Take that corpo-affiliated hospital on the edge of Santo Domingo, for instance—the one Gloria was supposed to be taken to in the anime.

In the original game, it’s the location for the gig "Psycho Killer." But that place isn’t a general or orthopedic hospital—it’s a psychiatric ward. Yeah, a psych ward. Not somewhere you’d dump a traffic accident victim.

Which means? If Gloria didn’t have trauma insurance, and she was on the verge of death after the crash, they could’ve labeled her a mental patient and shipped her there as a tax write-off. Oh, and the corp backing this place? Biotechnica. They’re known for testing new drugs on patients.

…And if you check the computers in the original game, you’ll find delightful evidence of how deep Biotechnica’s claws are in—like messages asking for pregnant test subjects, with replies like "We only have one right now, but we can scrounge up three more by the end of the month." Disgusting.

Now, here’s the thing. In the anime, David opts for the cheapest cremation service and brings her ashes home the same day. But…

Was that really Gloria?

Swapping a corpse killed by experimental drugs would be easy. And a young woman’s body? Plenty of uses for that. There’s no mention of Gloria’s body being crushed in the crash—just thrown clear. Plus, when the hospital told David she died, he mentioned they’d previously said her injuries weren’t life-threatening.

Of course, if the hospital’s telling the truth, she might’ve just died from the drugs they pumped into her without consent. But either way, you get how horrifying that place was.

In the original game, an NCPD officer gets forcibly admitted there to silence her, and the gig involves breaking her out. That’s how brazen Biotechnica is—they’ve got enough pull in this city to pull that crap.

So, I figured a place like that was better off gone. No loss to innocent civilians.

"Man, what a masterpiece. Patients getting carved up on operating tables, doctors reduced to chunks right next to ’em. Grabbed the data too—black as expected. Cremated everyone, so I bet the place is backed up by now."

But hey, that’s the problem with this city. Places like that pop up too damn easily.

It’s not just Arasaka. Militech, Biotechnica—every corp thriving in this hellhole needs to burn. Cut out the rot, and maybe the city’ll finally breathe.

…Ah. Now I get what Johnny Silverhand was on about.

Exploited by corps. Enslaved by corps. Used as stepping stones for corps. Breaking free of that? That’s the only path to real freedom.

A society where only the worst thrive, where the honest get crushed? That’s one hell of a dystopia.

Watching David grow while I work the shadows? Not bad.

And hey, as long as the ones dying deserve it, the body count stays at zero. They’re not innocent. They’re fair game.

…Wait. That’s a real fucked-up train of thought.

"—Snap out of it, dumbass!"

I caught myself and punched my own face. Even with real skin over chrome, it hurt. The throbbing pain brought me back to reality.

Keep the scales balanced. Don’t tip either way.

"Sigh… Haaah… How the hell do I explain this?"

A bandage for now. No way I’m wasting Bounce Back on this—that’s for emergencies, not a quick-fix miracle drug.

…Thank god the clinic wasn’t open yet.

Then again, showing up like this might be worse.

Eh, whatever. Nobody’ll care. Just say I fell out of bed.

…Never mind that my “bed” is just a futon on tatami.

Deep breath in. Out. Regain composure.

Please tell me that wasn’t early cyberpsychosis.

Sure, I’ve got plenty of chrome, but I haven’t pushed it far enough to fracture my humanity. Maybe it’s the environment?

Oh, right—David and the others have been gone from the house a while now. Could that be it? Lack of human connection?

Nah, I deal with customers daily. Shouldn’t be an issue.

"Yo, Jugra! Here for my shift—whoa, what happened to your face?!"

Ah, crap. That time already?

No jobs for Maine’s crew today, so David was supposed to be at the clinic.

The kid freaked out when he saw the bandage on my left cheek. Watching him flail almost made me laugh.

"Morning, David. Don’t worry—just slept like shit."

"That so? Had me concerned, man. You’re already skinny—you even work out?"

"…Mind your damn business, jackass. Go get changed and prep for opening."

"Y-yeah, yeah. Just look after yourself, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Look after myself? What’s that supposed to mean?

…Hah. Mood’s a bit better now.

His dumb, cheerful energy’s weirdly helpful sometimes. Guess I’ll keep him around as a mental stabilizer for a while.

Now that I think about it, the kid’s racked up a high body count too. Should probably schedule a counseling session for him. Frame it as a health checkup.

…Actually, Maine’s had cyberpsycho episodes before. Maybe I should screen the whole team.

David came back in his uniform, so time to open up.

Flipped the shutters up and got to work—only for everyone to ask about my cheek all morning. Some even shot David suspicious looks, like "You do this?" Made for a pain-in-the-ass shift till noon.

"Wanna match?"

"S-Sorry, sis…"

I shut him up with a glare and stuck to the "bad sleep" excuse. Seriously, why do these gonks keep linking me and David together? Sure, he’s a kid my age who hangs around the clinic and fusses over my gear, but he’s just a part-time employee here.

…Okay, maybe I rushed closing the distance between us, but it was just securing talent early. Don’t jump to conclusions, damn it.

Turns out, letting my guard down was a mistake.

The moment David ushered the next patient into the operating room, the guy popped Mantis Blades from both arms and lunged to gut me.

"...Ugh. This’ll be a pain to clean up."

I triggered Sandevistan, sliced off both his arms at the shoulders with monowire, and let gravity do the rest. David—mirroring my move with his own Sandevistan—kicked the guy’s stomach hard enough to fold him in half, then smashed his face into the floor with a follow-up stomp. A final hair-pull slam sealed the deal.

By the time my Sandevistan deactivated, the would-be assassin was a writhing worm. Useless.

"Ghk—gah!? Wh-What the—GYAH!? Agh! S-Stop! STOP—!"
"

Shut it. Got nothin’ to ask you anyway."

"Bastard—! Thought this was just some gig to rough up a kid—GLORGH—"

"I said shut your damn mouth."

Judging by the Six Street tattoos and the scav-grade Mantis Blades + Kerenzikov combo, this idiot was probably a dropout who turned to Scav work.

…Tch. Now his filthy blood’s staining the floor. I grabbed the battery-powered iron from the side table and seared his stumps shut.

The screaming stench of burning flesh drew the Tiger Claws crew from the waiting room. After cauterizing the other wound, I dumped the trash on the underlings. They dragged him off—all but two, who stayed behind to mop the blood with a bow.

David and I sterilized the room with dead-eyed efficiency, scrubbing every splatter.

"Sigh… This’ll bring trouble."

"No shit. Our recent gigs? All Scav dens and executions. We’ve pissed someone off."

"Probably a corp they were cozy with. Sent this gonk after tracing you to me."

"Yeah… ‘Edgerunner’ by day, your neighbor and part-timer by night. Easy connect."

"Exactly. Let the Tiger Claws interrogate him. I’ll dig up the rest."

I picked up the severed chrome arms. The logos confirmed they were Militech’s consumer-grade blades—not top-tier Arasaka, but close.

Mantis Blades aren’t brand-locked, but Arasaka’s (like V’s in the game) reign supreme. Militech’s rugged, no-frills design sits just below, catering to a different market. Johnny Silverhand’s gut would agree—these things are nasty for stealth kills.

"Wait, those things extend?" David eyed the blades.

"Mantis Blades. Retractable arm implants. Pop out like this—" I flicked the mechanism, "—for assassinations or close-quarters. Knives, but edgier."

"Ohhh, like in those black-market BDs Doc sold me. Can you put ’em in legs too?"

"Technically, yeah. But if you’re close enough to need leg blades, you’re already fucked. Better off knee-gunning someone."

"Huh. So… should I get some?"

I shook my head. "You’ve got Byakko and a Sandevistan. Mantis Blades would just be backup knives."

Also, Gorilla Arms would wreck your sanity, I almost added—but no need to cyberpsycho-trigger the kid.

"Point is, your Sandevistan—Warp Dancer—is borderline OP. Only thing that outpaces it is military prototype-grade. And Smiley? Point-blank headshots aren’t illegal if they’re dead."

"Heh… Crazy how I was just a student weeks ago."

"Wanna simulation? Play out if we’d never met."

David crossed his arms, thinking hard—then crumpled like a crushed can.

Yeah. That reality starts with him handing his mom’s implant to a back-alley ripperdoc. Knowing what I know now? No happy endings there.

"...Fuck. Meeting you was the best luck I’ve ever had."

"Course. Could’ve killed those Scavs in my sleep."

"So that’s why you said ‘three lives saved’…"

"Yep. But straight shooters like you? Rarer than honest cops in this city. That day, your guts were cool. Enough to make me wanna keep you around."

David blinked at me, startled. Was I making a weird face?

Touching my cheek, I realized—I was smiling.

…Huh. Maybe he’s like therapy. A big, dumb guard dog easing the tension.

I chucked the Mantis Blades into the disposal chute. The room was clean enough to reopen… after a heavy alcohol scrub. Blood’s scarier than blades in this city—who knows what synth-coke or combat stims were in that guy’s veins?

As I resumed work—digging bullets out of meatheads—David kept shooting me odd glances.

…What’s up with him?