The Sandevistan activated, totally unbidden. That had never happened before. Nanny? No doubt about it.

  [The path you’re about to take is wildly inefficient, David] Nanny said, in a tone that brokered zero arguments. Her words were like a splash of cold water on my face, immediately dousing my hot rage and pure, unbridled hatred. Combined with the sensation of the Sandevistan—like electricity was shooting through every inch of my body—all my thoughts and plans came to a hard stop.

  D: Killing these dickbags is too easy. And it would lead to a mess. I can’t handle this the Edgerunner way—Katsuo sent them after all. Why?

  [The why is not important. Not right now at least. The goal is getting us out of trouble without alerting Katsuo.]

  D: Dead men tell no tales. I could kill all these gonks in a moment’s notice.

  [And what if Katsuo is watching?]

  I darted my eyes around the room and gave a sigh. Ping.

  The effects of Ping spread throughout my room, but didn’t spread any further as if—ah, they had a jammer up. Wouldn’t do for me to call for help.

  How had they even gotten in? I looked around and found him—a Netrunner, wearing oversized tech goggles that made him look like a human fly. An external cyberdeck was strapped to his forearm. Right. Katsuo had thrown his entire wallet at these boys for sure—Netrunners didn’t come cheap, especially if you were hiring gangoons.

  I couldn’t detect any cameras, however.

  Still… something wasn’t quite adding up.

  With crystal clarity, I recalled the data I had mined from Katsuo at that yacht party. Gangoon contacts, Tyger Claws, a black site.

  Were they going to transport me rather than kill me on the spot?

  I’d highly prefer to avoid shedding blood inside my house. The sheer potential for both my identities to clash and perhaps even merge was too much to accept. I’d have to hire a fixer for one—in order to get my fucking house cleaned, and to get the corpses disposed of. I could ask Maine for help on that one, but… no, too messy. Way too messy.

  Like that mess on the table.

  Cigarette stubs poking out from the pile of ashes.

  [Focus, David. Stop looking at that. We need more data.]

  I stared at the Netrunner whose cigarette hand was halfway towards the pile.

  Blackwall Gateway was a quickhack that worked especially well on anyone with neural implants.

  I couldn’t wait to see what it would do to someone while I was in meatspace.

  [Stop it, David.]

  I gnashed my teeth.

  Then I deactivated the Sandy. I needed more data.

  “Are we doing this right here or are we going for a ride?” I asked the one who had spoken to me. The leader, perhaps?

  He grinned. “Boss wants to see you, nii-chan.”

  I nodded.

  I could get started while we were in transit, make it look like a group of merc bodyguards intercepted the truck they’d put me in and rained holy hellfire on them. Then I could just proceed on home, leaving the mess in the streets.

  All that mattered was whether or not they were willing to restrain me or cuff me somehow. Knowing how pieces of shits like these guys operated, they would sooner just kick the shit out of me in this apartment and drag my broken self to the meeting with Katsuo.

  Well, if that was the optimal course, then I’d settle for that.

  The Netrunner stubbed his cigarette on top of the ash pile, and then blew on it. The ashes spread across the table, and much of it fell down on the carpet. Then he spat on it. And laughed.

  “What?” the leader asked, looking at the spectacle, and then at me, “What are you gonna do about it, gomi?”

  [David, no—]

  “Me?” I asked. “Nothing.”

  But Katsuo wasn’t the only gonk in Arasaka Academy that could scramble some huscle on a moment’s notice. He had random Tygers—fucking nova for him.

  I had D.

  I looked at the Netrunner.

  I activated Blackwall Gateway.

  My cyberdeck’s Icepick smashed through his flimsy self-ICE in under a second, and a backdoor to cyberspace’s worst abominations spontaneously opened up inside his network.

  “What the f—” the Netrunner stood up and stumbled forward, tripping over his feet. The main gangoon turned around to look at him in shock. My eyes fell on his katana, and I drew it.

  Then I activated the Sandevistan and lined a long slice to his throat. I could sense the blade hitting subdermal chrome, but its sharpness—or perhaps some kind of mod—allowed me to part it and hit a vital vein just as I was running out of blade on my cut.

  The rest of the Tygers were still frozen. One had reacted, his face slowly transforming into an expression of shock—a Kerenzikov, perhaps? Not that it mattered. I walked up to him and sliced a long chop across his unprotected neck and moved on. Like before, I hit subdermal. Having expected that, I didn’t overcommit on the force of the chop and instead pulled back and eyed my next target.

  I got through five Tygers before I managed to lose my katana to the over-armored necks of one of the goons. No biggie. They had katanas to spare. I pulled out two from the soon-to-be-dead gangsters and continued reaping, until there was no one but the Netrunner left standing.

  Ping had caught his jammer—it was in his pocket.

  I deactivated the Sandevistan.

  “—fuck is going on with me?!” He fell on his knees, before the body of his former leader, “They’re not real, they’re not real, they’re not—fuck!” he screamed. He rattled off a prayer to God in Japanese that devolved into a sustained howl of pure terror.

  I walked up to the pile of mom’s ashes, retrieved the cigarette he had dropped in front of it, and then I went back to crouch in front of him, his leader lying dead right between us. He looked up at the ceiling, still screaming.

  “You didn’t stub it properly,” I muttered, poking the cherry on his forehead. If he could even feel it, or if his screams had changed in pitch, I couldn’t tell. It seemed that the hack was tormenting him well enough on its own.

  Gnarly stuff, really. I couldn’t imagine a situation where I’d ever use it on someone—well, unless they had fucked with me like these gonk fucks already had. There wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do to get my pound of meat at that point.

  I reached into his pockets and pulled out the little jammer—a cubical machine with a small antenna. I tossed it in the air and sliced it in half before immediately dialling Maine.

  Fuck.

  The Netrunner’s screams came to a crescendo before slowly abating, every orifice in his face streaming with blood. I was glad that he had suffered.

  Two-hundred and twenty-nine.

  000

  The whole crew ended up coming out to help. Even though I had only asked for a bit of help. Maine had arrived at my door twenty minutes after I had called, with everyone in tow: Dorio, Rebecca, Pilar, Kiwi, hell, even Falco, and… Lucy.

  Minutes prior, I had done my best to scoop as much of mom’s ashes into the urn—careful to separate as much of it as I could from the cigarette ash. By the time the rest of the crew had arrived, I had mercifully been able to complete that single task at least. Returning the urn to the shelf on the wall. Vacuuming up all the ashes that hadn’t mixed with the blood.

  Getting to avoid anyone bringing up the topic.

  Finding the lid hadn’t been hard, either. Washing the blood out of it and then thoroughly drying it had been more difficult—metal and blood seemed to share the same scent, which made it difficult to tell if I had truly cleaned it or not.

  For some reason, as I stared transfixed at the urn, I found myself wondering, quite intensely, what would mom think? Would she be disappointed?

  All my life, I had lacked true resolve. Sure, staying in Arasaka for as long as I had, with the grades I had, all the while suffering from nightmares every night—that wasn’t a walk in the park. But when it came to thoughts of what to do after Arasaka, after mom was done torturing herself in order to give me a fair shake in society—I had always come up empty.

  Until mom had died. At that point, my direction became crystal clear.

  The top of Arasaka tower. By any means necessary.

  But I had blundered at some step. There was no other way to characterize today—or hell, the yacht party. Somehow, I had pissed Katsuo off so badly that he now wanted me dead.

  And for what? For being better than him? For being a gutter rat? What the fuck did I do that was so goddamn bad?

  What the fuck did I do?

  Whatever it was, there was no apologizing for it now anyway.

  Neither was there a need to. Once again, my direction was crystal clear.

  Corporate Conflict taught that there were three destinations of conflict—Conquer, partner, and destroy.

  Weeks ago, I had made it my resolution to destroy Katsuo, knowing there were no other options available. I had made good on that resolution time and time again, showing the asshole up, taking from him more than he could possibly imagine. I had even gone as far as to prove to him that he was no longer my equal physically.

  But all that? Baby shit. Nothing. It was actually nothing.

  I hadn’t beggared his family yet. Killed his father. Crippled his mother. Scavved those shitty arms from his shoulders. Stopped his fucking heart.

  I hadn’t come close to destroying him.

  “David?”

  Lucy approached me from behind. I was still staring at mom’s urn. Watching her. Thinking.

  It was… embarrassing, calling the crew here, getting them involved at all. Like running to mom’s bedroom after wetting the bed. I couldn’t handle my shit after all. Couldn’t take responsibility for my own damn safety.

  [David. Lucy called your name.]

  I turned around and looked a bit to the left of her head, avoiding her eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  As I turned, I realized that the entire crew were standing behind her in a row, expectantly. The bodies were gone. All that remained was blood on the floor. That could be solved quite easily. Hell, even the door had been repaired—Pilar had replaced the hinges with big industrial motherfuckers that looked like they could easily secure blast doors. Not that it mattered.

  “I’m moving out,” I announced, “Also… thank you for coming to help. And I’m sorry for calling you all out on such short notice. I was… stuck.”

  “The fuck happened?” Maine asked, gently for his standards.

  “Corporate conflict,” I said, “An overeager classmate has decided to take our rivalry to the next step.”

  I received a call from NightCorp, a bill for disturbances, and payment options for how much I wanted the NCPD to not be notified. Twenty-five grand.

  Twenty-five fucking grand. I was down to seventy-five thousand on what I had won from Katsuo now. Not that money was tight at all—it was just annoying to learn that he had cost me something this tangible.

  “And what’re you gonna do about it?” Maine asked, walking forwards and stopping only a few feet away from me, by Lucy’s side.

  “I’ll kill him,” I said. I squinted in thought, “In a way that won’t be traced back to me. The prep will take a while. I’d rather not fuck things up any worse than I already have.”

  “I’ll say,” Kiwi muttered. She was sitting on an unbloodied section of the couch, “I scanned the meatbags—one of ‘em’s got a pretty worrying name. Turns out he’s the nephew of a Tyger Claw middle-boss. Might end up following up on this and cause you more grief.”

  “Ain’t that a fine pickle you done landed yerself in,” Falco snorted.

  “There’s more,” I said, “The corpo shitstain that ordered all this—he’s Tanaka’s son.”

  Maine’s eyebrows rose. “Tanaka Junior is on your ass? Why?”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Pilar started chuckling, “You’re telling me that’s the guy—”

  “Yes,” I said, interrupting him before he could tell everyone about Katsuo and my stints with his ‘fiancee’, “But I’m willing to bet it ain’t about that. He’s been on my case since day one.”

  “Easy plan, then,” Maine shrugged, “Tanaka’s the guy Faraday’s been targeting. We take him out, and you end up getting yours anyway. Kiwi, where are we on that?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Nowhere, since I paused all that in order to take care of your chrome, genius,” Kiwi said.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Maine grunted, “Don’t need all that sass from you.”

  “Sass is a part of the package.”

  I looked at Maine, “We’ll work on you, first. Then we figure out Tanaka. And I’ll handle biz on my end.”

  “Your end?” Dorio asked, arms folded, “You’re talking as if this doesn’t concern any of us.”

  “Because it doesn’t,” I replied. “I never meant for both sides of my life to get mixed up like this, and I’m not letting things mix any further. I’ll take advice, sure, but I’m going at this alone. I don’t want nor need help anymore.”

  “Good,” Kiwi said, getting up, “And here I was ready to get my hands all dirty with some intel-gathering for a baby corpo assassination, but it sounds like you’ve got things covered. And I won’t beg you to take my help.”

  “Enough with the corp talk!” Maine boomed, fists clenching. Kiwi stopped mid-stride towards the door and turned to Maine, “I won’t tell you how to live your life, David. It’s your choice what happens next. Right now, though? We’re going on a quick gig. Then we’re hopping over to the Afterlife. And you’re coming. As payment for helping you clean the bodies.”

  “That’s fair,” I said with a nod. He was free to demand that payment, and it was a light one, given how much need I was in. Maybe that was his company discount? Then again, Maine had always been a fair boss—the beginning of my employment under him notwithstanding.

  I looked around for Pilar, who was on the other end of the couch, playing catch with himself with a—a fucking grenade. I t better have nothing inside. Meanwhile, Rebecca was—sitting on my bed, looking my M179 over in clear awe.

  Fuck it. First thing first: “Pilar—” he fumbled with the grenade, but eventually caught it. For fuck’s sake, it better not be loaded. “You mind giving my gear a quick once-over before we get going? Plus, I got this new tech rifle from Mexico.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said, “I won’t even ask for pay.” He better not, after I cut him in on the Apogee heist money.

  Rebecca perked up and ran into the living room with a big grin, holding aloft a rifle that was only a foot or so shorter than her.

  “You got a fucking MaxTac rifle and didn’t tell me?!” Rebecca shouted.

  “It was only yesterday,” I muttered.

  “The hell happened yesterday?” Maine asked, looking at me in shock. “You went to Mexico?”

  “Family obligations,” I said, I sighed and dragged my hands down my face. I caught a look at Lucy, still looking at me in uncertainty, her posture unsure. I’d shelve that one for later, too. Right now, I needed to get my game-face on.

  I was slightly grateful for this opportunity to get to work. It would help clear my mind.

  “Alright,” I said, walking up to Maine, arm outstretched, “Thanks. For everything. I’m in.”

  His hands were enormous as they engulfed mine, and he gave a steely nod. “Don’t sweat it, kid.”

  000

  It turned out that the gig Maine had in mind was quite low-pay and low-risk even—and given that I wasn’t even being paid to begin with, I took that as something of a win. Usually I would have cared more, but now—

  Maine had practically done me that corpse disposal for free. Then again, I didn’t know the going rate on such stuff. I’d have to ask Reyes to give me the lowdown on what services his type offered. Pretty soon, I’d be in the position to make semi-regular use of such people to further my own career. Through Maine, I already had—in getting some cleaners to clean up the blood without asking any awkward questions. It took the bastards less than ten minutes, and then they were gone, just like that. Then, forty minutes later, near the outskirts of town where the city touched the desert, it was time for the gig.

  We were festival security.

  A shitty gig, but an easy one. No high-speed chases, no shootouts, no corpo drama—just standing around, looking scary, and tossing out the occasional rich-kid asshole who thought they were tougher than they actually were.

  The place was packed with elite brats rocking neokitsch fashions, and as was usual for Night City, many were only now beginning to stand out as the sun slowly sunk beneath the city scape. Everywhere I looked I saw glow-in-the-dark synth-dreadlocks, smart tattoos shifting across bare skin, crystal jewellery that would soon begin to glow in the dark, designer that probably cost more than mom would have made in a month.

  Three quarters of them were corporate brats slumming it for the weekend, trying to find some “authenticity” in the dust and neon. Too many of the rest were actual nomads and street rats, vultures circling the drunk and clueless, picking pockets and sockets, but well-dressed enough to pretend they weren’t. Technically, we were supposed to do something about that, but I wasn’t feeling any inclination towards protecting corpo brats from petty theft. I’d hate to get in the way of their hustle—they had very likely sunk a large portion of their savings into getting tickets for this event, and stealing was the only way for them to recoup their losses.

  I drew the line at physical violence, and made sure to keep an extra eye on the dipshit drunk girls running around without a care, who thought money and status would protect them from particularly spirited lowlives.

  I guess, in a way, it actually did. In the form of me.

  Maine had the heavies—Dorio, Rebecca, and Pilar—roving in a car, watching for Wraiths dumb enough to raid a place this crowded. Rebecca was even using my Achilles tech rifle, since I wouldn’t have the option to in this place. Lucy and I got stuck near the fenced-off entrance, babysitting wasted corpos who couldn’t handle their chems and wannabe gangsters looking to start shit.

  Kiwi had wisely decided to bail on this particular job, citing 'better things to do' as her reason for absence.

  “Got another one,” Lucy muttered.

  She nudged her chin at a guy wobbling toward us, shirt unbuttoned, eyes glassy. Some corpo kid, early twenties, expensive cyberware—but no sense of balance.

  “Yo, choom, you good?” I asked.

  He blinked at me, then at Lucy. Then he grinned, throwing an arm around my shoulder like we were old friends. “Duuude, I love you guys, man. You’re so... so… like, preem.”

  I peeled him off and pulled him up a little so he would stand straight. “Where are your chooms?”

  “Dude!” His eyes widened and he turned around to re-enter the crush of bodies in search for his chooms. “You’re so right! I gotta find my—” the noise drowned his voice out as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Lucy smirked. “You’ve got a real way with people.”

  “Yeah, I guess,”

  The music rose in volume and I was unable to hear Lucy’s retort over the sound of the Pretty Kitties belting out their chorus. Her eyes glowed golden and I received a call at the same time—from her. I accepted. Hopefully, her voice would drown out the sound of the generic pop bullshit.

  Lunacy: So, Corpo-Cunt, how are you planning on flatlining the other Corpo-Cunt?

  I grit my teeth, almost glad that being here on this shitty gig gave me the time to think over that exact question rationally.

  D: Slow-release quickhack. BG. I’ll chip him at school and let it activate when he gets home. Preferably after he goes asleep, in the middle of the night. No muss, no fuss.

  Lunacy: That’s… underwhelming.

  D: I’m not exactly going for Kill of the Year here. I’m just a corp student. I don’t even know how to hold a gun.

  She narrowed her eyes at me.

  Lunacy: I don’t know. I just assumed you’d be more willing to shit where you sleep after what you did in your apartment.

  D: That was different. They pissed me off.

  Lunacy: Why?

  I snorted coldly, gnashing my teeth and clenching my fists. Then I took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  D: It’s nothing. Not anymore. I won’t let it happen again.

  Lunacy: Finding them in your house got you shook up, huh?

  I bit back an angry retort and instead focused on the crowd, looking for dorph heads or laced up gonks trying to start a fight. Then I scanned around for careless women and found a few, but none of them were in any immediate danger.

  D: They fucked with my stuff.

  Lunacy: What stuff? Your porn BDs?

  D: My mom’s ashes.

  Her eyes widened and she stopped.

  Lunacy: Oh. I’m sorry, David.

  I clenched my jaw and then sighed.

  D: It is what it is.

  I’d been dealing with this shit for way too long. Katsuo thinking he could shit all over me.

  Why the fuck had it taken me this long to realize that the motherfucker needed to die?

  I received a call from Fei-Fei.

  D: Someone’s calling.

  I felt an intrusion through our link and blocked it instantly, tossing Lucy’s influence out and ending our call. She furrowed her eyebrows in surprise—and maybe a bit of outrage. I had no interest in unpacking any of that, not right now.

  Instead, I debated on what to do. What if she was a part of this? What if Katsuo finding out about Fei-Fei and I had driven him over the edge?

  Either way, this call wouldn’t put me in a worse position than I already was. Katsuo had made his move. I was now alerted. And Fei-Fei couldn’t trace me through this line either. Not unless she was hooked up to an industrial ICE breaker, and even then, she needed to be a Netrunner for it to work.

  Ah, fuck it.

  I accepted.

  Fei-Fei: How are you celebrating this Friday evening?

  Her chirpy tone completely threw me off. Was she serious? Trying to confuse me? Or did she really not know?

  D: After-school work.

  Fei-Fei: After-school work? I didn’t know Arasaka Academy allowed their students to work after school. Wait—are you blowing me off? You could just say it if you’re busy, you know. No sweat, choom.

  Her awkward slang-use cracked through a bit of my dark mood, inadvertently made me break into a tiny grin. I saw Lucy stare at me intensely. I turned around from her and schooled my expression. This was no time to be dropping my guard.

  D: Not work, per se. But I’m doing a project for the corp. Katsuo set me back by a mile, so I’ve been, uh, busy.

  Fei-Fei: Too busy to grab a few drinks in Japantown? I know of a nice and discreet spot where we can meet.

  D: Too busy, Fei-Fei. Sorry.

  Fei-Fei: It’s fine. Maybe another time.

  D: How’s Katsuo doing?

  I hoped my tone came off as light.

  Fei-Fei: Why do you care?

  D: I’m just curious.

  Fei-Fei: Listen, David. I don’t want to be used against him in your feud. I think I’d be putting on way too much risk—more than I already am by associating with you.

  Shit, she was right. It was unfair for me to use her like this.

  But I couldn’t leave her in the dark, given all the risk she was under. I trusted her, in a manner of speaking.

  D: Katsuo sent some goons to have me killed.

  Fei-Fei: Oh my god. David, are you okay?

  D: I’m fine. They didn’t touch me.

  Fei-Fei: David, I’m so, so sorry this happened to you. I really am. But—I can’t be involved with this. I can’t.

  D: Just giving you a heads up. Stay safe

  Fei-Fei: Thank you. And you too.

  She ended the call first.

  I analyzed our dialogue for a moment, wondering just how much of it was an act. I hadn’t let much slip—knowing it was Katsuo that had set me up was something, but in case that fact ever made its way back to the bastard, he’d probably let up on his offensive and focus more on defense.

  For all the good it would do him.

  His days were numbered.

  I’d be going to ground until Monday, crashing at the house of whoever in the crew would let me—then I’d go to school like nothing ever happened. I’d go through the day like usual, then between classes, I’d use the Sandy to chip him while we were in the hallway, in a dead spot between all the surveillance cameras. And that would be it. He’d die a horrible death that couldn’t be traced back to me—materially at least. I’d have picksocketed back the chip after it was finished installing into his chrome. And there would be no log of any of that on his agent either. No timestamp to show when his system had been infiltrated. No cameras connecting him with me. For all appearances, he would have gone to bed, then screamed and thrashed around while Trauma Team was en-route, but they would never get there in time.

  The Blackwall Gateway killed within seconds.

  I contemplated what my academy days would look like without Katsuo there. Quiet. Peaceful. And with Jin thoroughly enamored with my services, even during the occasional party, I’d be untouchable.

  I shook myself from the reverie, feeling like I’d be jinxing myself by fantasizing about the situation too much. I wouldn’t allow this to stay a fantasy. Not on my life.

  The gig continued without anything too crazy happening. Lucy and I played hero a few times, breaking up fights, tossing out the trash, making sure that the Trauma Team ratfuckers could reach a few of the OD’d corpos without stepping on too many other corpo toes. Turns out that the bastards weren’t nearly as able to bulldoze through a crowd of people to reach their policyholders when most of that crowd were policyholders themselves. And the few Street Kids inside with them gained immunity by association.

  Maine reported a shootout with some Wraiths, triggering intense jealousy in me. I’d have preferred to be out there, in the desert, with Rebecca and Pilar’s bickering overlaying the quiet backdrop of wind blowing through the sands, keeping watch on the horizon.

  Getting to let out all my pent up energy by blowing up Wraith Quadras. Scattering their numbers, playing target practice on them as they rushed away. With the ground as open as it was, it made for ideal target practice conditions.

  Once nine o’ clock struck, our shift ended. Falco picked us up in his Chevillon Emperor and drove us straight to the Afterlife.

  It was the first time I had been back since I first snuck in all those weeks ago. But for some reason, it felt like it had been years since then. So much had happened.

  I wondered if they’d even let me in, if I had managed to make enough of a name for myself.

  As we got out of the big car, I walked up to the end of the line and stopped there. Then I saw Maine and the rest proceed past the line. I blinked and hurried after them.

  “You big dork,” Rebecca giggled as she hip-checked me, hitting my knee.

  I shrugged, “Can’t blame me for being careful. Last time I tried coming here, the bouncer wanted to punch my head off.”

  “When was that?” Rebecca asked.

  “Uh, three or four weeks ago,” I said. “I was trying to get in touch with a fixer.”

  “So you came to the Solo Valhalla,” Rebecca said dryly. Then she guffawed, “Dork!”

  Lucy slowed down from the head of the pack to walk next to Rebecca and I, inserting herself in the middle. “This is literally the peak Solo hangout, D. And you tried coming in here for a tutorial.”

  I sighed, “I was strapped for edds.”

  “You’re fucking crazy,” Rebecca laughed. I just shook my head. It wasn’t that big a deal. Besides, the bartender had been a huge help.

  “That was pretty ballsy,” Lucy conceded, “But I guess you didn’t know any better at the time.”

  “I guess.”

  Lucy turned to me, as though she was expecting more. I kept looking ahead, not meeting her stare. I wasn’t in the mood for small chatter anyway.

  Once we reached the entrance, the bouncer gave us all a look, and his eyes stayed on me for a few long awkward seconds.

  “Let us the fuck in already,” Maine grunted.

  The big bouncer shrugged and gave a nod. I ignored the angry glances of the other solos waiting in line behind us and proceeded inside.

  For being the peak of Solo hangouts in the city, the Afterlife really wasn’t much different from any other moderately well-kept bar in town. It was tagged all over the place, dark and neon, and it was small compared to what one would expect of a place this important. Small and cozy.

  Maine picked a booth for us to get into and started ranting about sand getting into his finger joints, which turned into a group discussion about how much the sand sucked. I pretty much tuned out for all of it.

  Even after the drinks arrived, I was mostly inside my own head, planning out how I’d code the program meant to kill Katsuo. It had to be slow-acting, clean, indirect, untraceable—

  “D,” Maine said. I paused my thoughts and looked up at him, irritated. He was sitting diagonally from me, opposite side of the table at the very end of the booth. “I know you got two jobs you don’t wanna mix, but in light of the fuckin’ mess that happened earlier, I’m wondering if you wouldn’t be down for a way to nab our guy through your guy.”

  “I’m down,” I accepted instantly, now fully engaged in the conversation. Maine grinned.

  “You’re finally fucking with us!” Pilar cheered, arms raised, “Welcome to Earthside, ya fucking Highrider!”

  “Some caveats though,” Maine said, “Your guy can’t die before we reach our guy.” Fuck. “But I’ll make it worth your while.” Shit, I’d take the gig for free.

  Kill the elder Tanaka. Give Katsuo a call rubbing his dad’s death in his face, the same way he talked about my mom.

  Then I’d find him and kill him.

  And the best part? Senior’s death would make it so that Katsuo had no corporate backing anymore. No corporate backing meant no proper investigation into his death. That is unless Mrs. Tanaka didn’t use her inheritance money to get the two of them exactly that.

  But I would go for the three-peat in that case. What was one more body?

  All this blood was just paint to me at this point.

  “Keep your money,” I said, my voice cold, “This one’s on the house.”

  000

  The empty bottle of expensive liquor exploded against Katsuo’s bedroom wall, but it did nothing to calm his nerves as he panted in exertion.

  It wasn’t enough. He wanted to punch the wall until it was reduced to rubble—punch it until the Strongarms broke against it. Anything to get rid of this full-body buzzing that seemed to concentrate the most around the hands.

  His hands, he forcefully reminded himself, remembering what the therapist had told him. His hands. Him. Someday, he might believe that lie—but today, it did nothing for him.

  Katsuo: Where the fuck did they go?! Why aren’t they answering?

  The person at the other end of the line took a moment to reply, angering Katuso even further. The fists clenched—his fists. God damnit!

  Omaeda: My nephew and his boys are unlikely to be the type to run away with a client’s money. Especially one of your status.

  Katsuo: I don’t need your shitty excuses! Give me the status of the job already!

  Omaeda: I am unable to reach my nephew, waka-sama.

  Then he said nothing else, as if that was any explanation whatsoever.

  Katsuo: What the fuck—

  Omaeda: That means that it is very likely that they are tied up in some way.

  Katsuo: Dead? You mean to tell me your dozen gangsters fucking died?!

  Omaeda: I will keep you apprised of the situation, waka-sama, provided that our remuneration reflects this new danger level.

  Katsuo: Don’t give me that shit! You took this job for the money I gave you—

  Omaeda: Having assumed, from your intelligence might I add, that ours was not a militarized target. But given that my boys truly have lost their lives, I can make no other assumption than that.

  Katsuo could hardly believe his ears. What the hell, is this scumfucker blaming me for this shit?!

  Katsuo: You didn’t do your due diligence. I only told you where he lived. You underestimated him first.

  So, what, did that rat have turrets in his house or something? Or a retinue of solos of his own? He lived in a mega’ for fuck’s sake. And based on the academy records, he still fucking did, even after coming into all that money he loved flaunting around.

  Katsuo: I paid for twelve guys for exactly this purpose. How the fuck they all lost is beyond me—and absolutely your problem. So if you don’t want my father to call your boss, you make this right, you hear me? You make this goddamn right. Bring me David Martinez—dead or alive, I don’t fucking care. Just bring him!

  Omaeda: Fine.

  Katsuo hung up.

  Goddamn this. Goddamn them all. Incompetents, the lot of them.

  With any luck, those fucking idiots would have just killed David and laid low because they knew they had screwed up on the orders of bringing him in alive. At this point, Katsuo would have preferred that outcome. But it all just seemed… wrong.

  Katsuo debated on calling David, just to see if the line rung. Then he would hang up if it did, a clear sign that he was still alive.

  But then David would know. He would know. And then he’d come after Katsuo.

  Let him try.

  Katsuo shook his head and made himself remember who he was: Katsuo Tanaka. The executive’s son. The most powerful student in Arasaka Academy’s senior year.

  David Martinez was nothing. And his end would be quick—and he would not be remembered.

  He called David. The line began to ring. Katsuo resisted the urge to cut his own call short. He walked to his desk and reached for a bottle of sake. He forewent the cup and downed a gulp straight from the bottle.

  The line kept ringing.

  And it kept ringing.

  Katsuo’s heart raced as the line kept ringing until—

  David M: Pray.

  Then he cut the call.