The virtu’s one saving grace, in Judy’s opinion, was its brevity.

  All told, including the Sandevistan bullet time, the gig took two minutes and fifteen seconds. That was, two minutes and fifteen seconds spent playing tango with the Strom while they emptied an entire clip at you, only to drag them around with one hand, using them as a shield to deflect a hail of bullets while fearlessly thrusting and slashing with a sword.

  That was only the fucking start.

  Each movement, each twitch seemed to carry a purpose. When Judy had seen the solo lift his gun up and aimed it at the facade of the storefront, at the fucking Ping outline of a gangoon separating them through several walls and floors, Judy hadn’t expected much but for the merc waste a bullet.

  He hadn’t, in fact, wasted a bullet.

  The slaughter was intense, but the attitude that the gunman maintained throughout it all was nothing short of muted. It would have been banal if it wasn’t genuinely fucking terrifying. Quite a few solos loved to go for this style of work—execution with dispassion and consummate skill. Most only had one or the other. And most who had both were full-blown psychopaths or just incipient cyberpsychos just waiting to have one bad day before they decided that a fire fight in the middle of a busy mall was as good a way as any to spend their Friday night.

  Come to think of it, that kid was checking every box. He barely saw any of these people as humans, but… points.

  In fact, Judy detected the merc thinking about numbers going up. From two-hundred and forty-one to be precise. Ticking all the way up to two-eighty eight with each kill.

  He was counting his kills, keeping track. That was an old school way to go about it—Judy had heard rumors that the solos of Morgan Blackhand’s day used to do that sort of thing—and they went one step further by chipping in fashionware that was essentially an LED display, showing their number of bodies.

  Either that, or the kid just had some weird kind of OCD.

  That and a willingness to do the wildest shit in a BD, just to garner some kind of a reaction.

  Like the bullet-dodging sequence, for instance.

  Each gunshot scared the wits out of Judy, each roar of the Lexington—narrowly dodged by the solo with barely a thought—felt like living through the most intense slasherfilm BD in existence. With the added knowledge that all this had truly happened in the real, Judy felt a strange combination of terror for her own life, and terror at the merc that was D.

  Who… who did this shit? Sandevistan or not, who fucking did this shit?

  And—what the actual fuck was going on with that aspect ratio he was rocking?

  It was the mask—had to be. His peripheral vision was shot to fucking hell, but he obviously didn’t fucking care.

  None of the slaughter phased him—he was going out of his way to put himself in extra danger, clearly limiting his uses of the Sandevistan, all to entertain.

  Terrifying.

  After hours of work, Judy sat back in her technician chair, looking up at the chip she had burned of this Maelstrom extermination, and wondered—after most of the initial fear had seeped away—if maybe chasing the boy away wasn’t such a good idea after all?

  Hell, it wasn’t like JK was actually in danger of getting dragged into all that Edgerunner shit—he was living large off of his work, making preem edds.

  Meanwhile, most these fucking degenerates she dealt with on a regular basis couldn’t appreciate true art. Sometimes, Judy wondered if she was putting in too much work for an audience that just weren’t equipped to appreciate it.

  Might as well pump up her profit margins pushing psycho BDs, no?

  Then, she remembered the people that could appreciate her work—her favorite customers. Those that saw her art and appreciated the subtleties, the nuance of every touch, every burst of emotion.

  She sold more than just porn to them.

  She sold connection.

  And that was kind of worth not making the big edds for.

  Yeah… she’d leave the selling out to the idiots like JK, who thought edds were more important than creation.

  And being honest, she would rather never meet that fucking skullmasked Cyberpsycho again in her life if she could help it.

  She’d sold out enough for a lifetime.

  Preem edds, too. Twenty K wasn’t anything to sneeze at.

  000

  “To Falco!” Pilar roared, raising his condensation-coated can of cold beer far up over his mohawked head.

  Rebecca, Lucy and I followed suit before taking deep sips. The carbonation still couldn’t touch the buzz I was riding on, and it likely wouldn’t for some time.

  I put the can down on the table—which was an inactive turret with a plastic board screwed on top.

  “Holy shit,” I muttered. Just. Holy shit.

  “The fuck’s that mustachio’d gonk even doing?” Rebecca looked around us. There were still a bunch of people around, celebrating the conclusion of the race with drinks of their own, hundreds of different picnics around coolers filled with ice and drink.

  I looked around and spotted Falco a moment later, leaning up against his trashed Type-66, sweet-talking the blonde girl with the violet Sport R-7. He pinched his chin and bit his lower lips while she folded her arms and looked down her nose at him, clearly unimpressed. I wasn’t sure if he was gloating or just flirting.

  But I decided to withhold my judgment, and not be so pessimistic for him. Guy was a legend—no way in hell she’d turn him down after—

  She snorted, pointing her nose in the air, before turning around and getting inside her car to drive off.

  “HAH!” Pilar laughed. Falco ambled over towards us, and had to catch a beer can flying at incredible speeds. Falco caught it without missing a beat, still smiling as though he hadn’t just been turned down in front of all of us. “No luck, huh? No pecker-stickin’ for you, cowboy.”

  “You’re in rare form, today, Pil,” Falco chuckled, shaking his head. “Besides—you tryna tell me you’d have better luck with that little lady?”

  “Maybe—if you hadn’t chased her off with your fuckin’ Kentucky Fried Foghorn Leghorn drawl, I could have showed her what a real Edgerunner can do, choom! And I’m not talking about finger-fucking no bitch-mobile in the desert with a bunch of dusty Mad Max motherfuckers.” Damn, Pilar.

  Falco shook his beer and cracked it open, spraying it on Pilar, who tried to contort his way out of the spray.

  He was pretty much asking for it.

  “BEER FIGHT!” Rebecca roared, grabbing two beers and shaking them. I felt Lucy immediately dart behind me, holding me in place for Rebecca to crack open both beer cans with her index fingers and send the foam spraying at my face.

  Goddammit!

  I laughed as I grabbed Lucy and held her in front of me to absorb the second half of Rebecca’s volley before grabbing my beer can from the table to use as an impromptu weapon. I stopped the hole with my finger, shook what was left inside and whipped the foam at Rebecca and Lucy, both of whom were squealing at the sudden shower of cold liquid.

  Then I took a deep breath through my nose, only for my cloth mask to waterboard me with beer, stunning me into dropping my cans.

  I was barely able to see out of my eyeholes to defend myself or dodge away as I hitched up the mask to breathe—but thankfully, Rebecca had focused her fire on Lucy, who was doing her best to doge away from the beer, falling low and stepping away rapidly, betraying a deep level of training and bodily control. Lucy was definitely no slouch in meatspace.

  I used the Sandevistan to grab myself a pair of beers. I shook them rapidly and deactivated the Sandevistan.

  I copied Rebecca’s technique, opening both cans with my index fingers, giving both Lucy and Rebecca healthy sprays in retaliations.

  “THE FUCK IS YOUR MALFUNCTION?!” I heard some random nearby nomad shout at us. “Take that kindergarten shit somewhere else or I’ll flatline the lot—” A full beer can smashed into his face, causing him to fall on his ass, utterly insensate.

  I saw Rebecca’s outstretched hand towards the nomad. She glared at him. “Motherfucking gonk.”

  I looked at her with a raised eyebrow, “That was… surprisingly non-lethal of you.”

  Rebecca looked at me with a grin and a raised eyebrow, “The fuck kind of a cyberpsycho do you think I am?”

  “The one that pulls guns on her own brother,” I chuckled.

  She grimaced. “That’s fucking different.”

  Lucy snorted. “Pilar’s a special case—he can get flatlined and no one will bat an eye.”

  Falco laughed. “Now ain’t that the unvarnished truth.”

  “Hey!” Pilar shouted, glaring at all of us. “You’re talking like I ain’t the one modding your guns and making your nades!”

  I raised a hand lamely, “I’d probably bat an eye.”

  “Aw,” Lucy grinned at me, arms folded. “You big softie.”

  I chuckled, rolling my eyes. “Anyway—” I looked at Falco, “How much are the repairs gonna run you?”

  “Just about all I goddamned won in the first place,” Falco laughed. Shit! “Yeah—damn near every other ride that actually finished already ran over the equipment I ejected. But, at least I won.”

  I blinked. “What does it matter if you’re not getting edds for it?”

  “Hah!” Falco slapped his thigh, “You think so small, Lucha-D. You think helpin’ out a damsel in distress ain’t worth a handicap or two? And still winnin’ at that?”

  I shrugged, “I mean—yeah. But didn’t she ditch you? All I’m saying is, it kinda falls a little flat when you didn’t get what you set out to do in the first place.”

  He shook his head mirthfully. “You think opportunities to be a legend just falls into your lap without risk, then I’ve got a bridge to sell you. The trick is to always put yourself out there. If you fail—try again. But if you succeed,” He shook his head and whistled. “Whew. That’d make a good story, no?”

  That did make a little sense.

  Lucy scoffed, “That’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, Falco—you lost double when you could have just won outright.”

  “Helpin’ out some chick that didn’t even ask for help is so fucking lame!” Rebecca laughed. “What are you doing, cowboy?”

  “I hear ya, cowboy, I do,” Pilar folded his arms and stroked his goatee. “It would have made a good story—but now ya got a pay the piper, since that’s the only thing it is at this point—a fuckin’ story.”

  Falco nodded. “That do be true. Go on, then—get all yer licks in while I’m down and out. It’s alright—I can take it.”

  Before they could barrage him with disses, I spoke first. “Thank you, Falco—for today. It was fucking nova.”

  “Thank you, D,” Falco nodded. “If it wasn’t for your quick wit, I’d have gotten my fill of that lady’s dust and been twice the loser.” The truth was, I hadn’t been that useful, probably. Falco was fast enough to outspeed any Wraith Quadra, really. All I had been was just extra deadweight. Rebecca could have done my job while making it easier on Falco.

  So I was immensely grateful for this opportunity. I chuckled and nodded.

  “Now, D—” Pilar butted in, “Since I so very much appreciate your loyalty—and the fact that you would bat an eye if I were to get my brains splattered across the sidewalk—” he went under the turret table to dig through a backpack for something. He pulled some white sheet thing out and then threw it at me. I caught it and looked it over, blinking at what I saw. “Your mask is fucking hideous, D. I mean it. Take it the fuck off before I flatline you for being an embarrassment—and wear that instead.”

  Unlike my cloth mask, this one didn’t have a hole on top to let my hair out. This was a whole head mask with the same sugar skull motif as the one I wore, but less generic. The eyes were a solid black, with no perceivable eyeholes. Around the eyeholes were blue floral petal patterns. The nose hole was a black upside-down heart with a similarly blue outline. Around the cheekbones were swirling vines from which yellow petals grew. The ‘gums’ of the teeth were outlined in blue. All of it looked far neater and prettier than the cloth mask.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  But none of those details could compare to my fixation on the skull’s forehead, in which a diamond-shaped ruby was implanted.

  I stared at it for a while.

  “I’ve, uh… seen Gloria a couple of times,” Pilar said awkwardly. “Remembered that red diamond implant she was rocking. If you don’t like it, that’s fine—the mask’s actually digital—you just need to connect to it to change the graphics—”

  “It’s perfect,” I said.

  I used the Sandevistan to take off my cloth mask and then put the new mask on. It felt tighter on my face, but was far more comfortable.

  And I actually had a peripheral vision worth a damn now—that was a relief.

  “And it’s bulletproof!” Pilar said, unholstering his gun to—to point it at me.

  I stepped towards him and slapped the gun up so it would shoot the air instead. It alerted the nomads around us, but no one seemed to move to take any action. “What the fuck, Pilar?!” I shouted. “You’re gonna shoot me in the fucking head to show me that my mask is bulletproof? Are you fucking insane?”

  Pilar gaped—”How’re you supposed to fucking believe me if I don’t fucking show you?!”

  “I’m not getting shot in the fucking head, Pilar!”

  He backed away from me and groused. Jesus Christ.

  “Would you still bat an eye now?” Lucy growled, her eyes glowing a threatening blue as she glared at Pilar, priming a quickhack to take him out of commision. I was starting to come around to their reasoning.

  I snorted. “What do you think about the mask?”

  She looked at me, frowned, then grinned widely. “Fuck, Pilar—you made it track his facial expressions? You turned him into a fucking cartoon character.”

  “What?!” I shouted.

  Lucy shot me a link request—to her Kiroshis. I accepted it, and suddenly gained double vision—now able to see through a low-def window of her eyes.

  I frowned, then grinned, and saw that the skull face was copying my expression, best as it could, at least. The eyeholes were the most expressive since the mouth didn’t have lips. “Wow,” I muttered, and saw that the mouth opened. Nothing concrete could be read about my words from the mouth, though—again, owing to the lack of lips. Instead, the jaws just opened and closed, like the mouth flaps of an animation.

  Lucy chuckled. “This is so stupid. You gotta disable this shit.”

  I chuckled, and then laughed even harder as I saw myself through Lucy’s eyes. “Oh my god, this is too good.”

  Then I heard a roar of a gunshot at the same time as I felt something punch the side of my skull.

  “See?! Bulletpr—AAAAAAAAAH—!”

  Once I recovered to glare at Pilar who had just fucking shot me on the head—and that shit fucking stung—I was about to beat the shit out of him, but saw that Rebecca and Lucy already had that handled. They were drawing blood, too.

  Falco whistled. “You don’t think they might be going too overboard, do ya?”

  I looked down at Pilar dispassionately as the girls continued to wail on him brutally.

  “D!” Pilar begged. “Help—ARGH!” I heard the unmistakable crack of a rib. I didn’t bat an eye at that.

  Instead, I looked the other way.

  000

  D: So… you and Pilar.

  I drove Lucy and I home at a sedate pace on the bike, actually below the speed limit since Lucy had told me to take it slowly.

  I felt her arms stiffen around my waist and felt a slight stab of guilt at that.

  D: I’m sorry for asking—it’s none of my biz

  Lunacy: No, it’s just—yeah, embarrassing past. When did you hear about it?

  D: Some weeks ago. Doesn’t mean anything to me—just curious to know, like, why?

  Lunacy: I was… in kind of a deep hole, I guess. He was there and willing and—being honest—just one out of a bunch of other meaningless flings. But… I’m grateful to him specifically, I think—he taught me there’s always a lower low to reach. There’s bad decisions, and then there’s Pilar. He embodies life on the edge—does not give a fuck about anything but thrills. Fills each moment with adrenaline and drugs whenever he gets bored of makin’ shit. He plays the numbers with his own life every fuckin’ day. Kinda gave me a reality check, really. Showed me I still had a ways to go before I reached that level.

  D: Damn. I’m sorry to hear that. You on the outs with him? We don’t have to see him if—

  I heard a muted snort from behind me.

  Lunacy: Nah—fuck that noise. Pilar’s a piece of shit, but he doesn’t bother me like that. Least not more than any other member of the crew. He’s fuckin’ insane, and probably liable to get himself flatlined one day, but he’s good at what he does, and he’s kept me alive more than once. Just an average client of the Afterlife when you get down to it.

  I nodded. That was a little relieving to hear. Despite what he was, I had a decent opinion of the guy. He was like a crazy fucking uncle that your parents absolutely hated but the kids loved.

  Not that I knew how it felt like to have one of those—but I’d seen cartoons before as a kid. The family sitcoms where the crazy uncle would sneakily buy the kids porn BDs, cigarettes and alcohol—that sort of guy.

  Lunacy: so… you and Kiwi?

  I chuckled. Shoe was on the other foot now.

  D: Yeah?

  Lunacy: You talked to her, yet?

  D: No. Not yet. I don’t really know what to say. If it was just that I didn’t like her, then I could get over that. You know—stop not liking her. But I’m pretty sure it’s her, Lucy. The fuck am I supposed to do about that?

  Lunacy: Look, Kiwi… doesn’t really like anyone. But she is a team player. Puts 110% into every group effort. She’s good to work with—reliable, dependable.

  Still didn’t feel right to me to ignore those personal feelings of hers just because she could set them aside.

  D: I’ve had a bad experience with people being jealous of me, Luce. That shit drives people to do the most fucked up things, you know. You saw it yourself—with Katsuo.

  Lunacy: Kiwi’s not like Katsuo, you fucking dick.

  D: From where I’m standing… argh, fuck it, Luce. We’ll talk it out, her and I.

  Once we reached Lucy’s house, I dropped her off and gave her a nod. “I’ve still got biz in town.”

  Lucy shot me a text—a list of stuff to buy. Just a long list of alcohols, really. “Party tonight?” I grinned.

  She laughed at me.

  “What?”

  “No—it’s the fucking mask, D. You gotta turn the animation off,” she held her mouth. “And no, no party. I'm house-hunting, remember?”

  “Sounds like a party,” I said, “I’ll be back in an hour or two and then we can do it together.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m very fussy about this sort of stuff. What about you? You a closet interior designer or something?”

  I snorted. “I’m not gonna fight you if your opinions are stronger than mine. I’ll check your progress and we’ll just hang.”

  Throughout my words, Lucy couldn’t help but grin as though she was on the verge of bursting into laughter. “Mhm. See ya, D.”

  I shook my head and sped off—far faster than the speed limit would allow, and faster than any city cop could follow, without the use of an AV at least.

  First stop, Lizzie’s bar. I had already sent Judy a text, meaning she was already waiting outside once I arrived.

  “New mask,” Judy said with a nod. “Looks preem.”

  “Thanks,” I nodded. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth, dragging her hand down her face before nodding.

  “Mhm,” she pursed her lips, eyes still wide. Then she handed me two metal boxes, one titled W and the other titled M. “One’s for the Maelstrom and the other’s for the Wraiths.”

  I blinked. “But when you turn the boxes the other way, the letters switch—you didn’t underline them.”

  She stared very intently at the boxes, still covering her mouth, “Mhmm! I guess you’re right.”

  “It’s fine,” I shrugged. “I’ll check myself. Doesn’t really matter. Thanks for everything, Judy.”

  With her mouth still covered, she gave me a thumbs up and then disappeared into the bar.

  I hit up Reyes.

  D: Hey—I was wondering if you were in the business of pushing XBDs.

  Reyes: What did you have in mind? You looking to score some JKs?

  D: I was wondering if you could maybe push mine.

  000

  I parked my bike outside a small restaurant in Rancho Coronado by the name of ‘Abdi’s Real Meat’. Outside sat a pair of afro-sporting black guys, one of them wearing some kinda clothing wrapped around his waist that reached his ankles.

  When they saw me approaching with my guitar case, one of them got up and glared at me. He was the one with the—sarong, I surmised after a quick net-search—and a button-up pale pink shirt. Tucked into the sarong’s waistband was a lexington.

  He rattled off some words to me in a guttural foreign language that my Kiroshis only managed to translate after a second of delay. “The fuck are you coming here for, you scary-ass bastard?” He glared.

  “Sit your ass down, Abdi,” the guy still seated said from his chair, “He’s the guy the big man is expecting. Just go on in, scary-ass.”

  I gave the guy a nod and then gave one to Abdi—presumably the owner of the restaurant. “I’m here for El Capitan.”

  His eyes boggled at me, then he just grinned. “Go on then,” he said in his native language—Somali, from what my optics were telling me.

  I proceeded into the comfortably lit interior of the restaurant. The air was warm with the scent of cumin, cardamom, garlic, and seared meat. The walls were decorated with wood panels and African-style tapestries, reds and browns and faded golds in a bunch of random patterns—arrows, stripes, half-moons.

  A radio played a scratchy, upbeat funk track, drifting just above the noise of shouting and the sizzling from the open kitchen in back.

  El Capitan was easy to spot, sitting at a low table near the window, surrounded by a few of his people—a Netrunner with a cowboy hat, a big huscle, and a bald shifty-eyed guy I’d never seen before. A big bowl of some type of beef stew sat in the center, oily and steaming, next to a stack of pancake-like flatbreads glistening with grease. Both the runner and the huscle were busy eating, but the bald-guy wasn’t partaking. Reyes looked up as I stepped in, gave me that confident grin of his and motioned for me to join.

  “D,” he said, sliding a bowl toward me like I was family. “Come eat, my friend. Trust me, this shit is nova. Somalis don’t fuck about their meats. Swear to god—if they can’t get their hands on real cow, goat or chicken? These crazy motherfuckers will sooner chop up some poor gonk they pulled from the streets and serve it than go for the synth SCOP shit. Real meat is a forgotten art, D.”

  “Bruv, fuck off!” came a shout from the kitchen in a thick Brit accent. A black guy with braids—looking really similar to Abdi—waved a wooden spoon at El Capitan. “Human meat’s haram as fuck, fam! Man’s not touchin’ that shit—worse than pork, swear down! What d’you take me for, some Voodoo Boy wasteman?" He kissed his teeth angrily.

  Reyes raised an eyebrow at the guy. “Don't you serve beer here, Abdi?”

  He scoffed. "Bruv, sellin' alcohol under ten percent's halal if it's life or death, yeah? Mufti done said it. How am I supposed to make profit margins if I ain't servin' nothin’ strong? This is Night City, fam—what d’you want me to do, start serving synth-xaar or starve to death? Fuck that! You,” he pointed the wooden spoon at me. “Scary-arse brudda. Sit your arse down and tell me what you want, yeah?"

  “He'll have a whole damn pot of Beef Suqaar and a bunch of those injeras too. Make it spicy, even the injeras—he's a real Mexican. Probably. You Mexican? Anyway, mucha comida—he's a big man now.”

  “To go,” I chimed in as I sat down in front of El Capitan, putting down my guitar case. “And not so spicy.” Lucy hadn’t eaten yet. Might as well make this brunch or something. And I knew she didn’t tolerate spice well. “He's Abdi?” I asked Reyes. “Thought that was the guy outside.”

  Reyes snorted. “They're literally all named Abdi. Owner's Abdinasir. Abdi, Nasir, or Nas. Take your pick. He's a good guy, actually. Doesn't fuck about his meats.”

  “So I've heard,” I chuckled.

  Reyes frowned at me for a moment before his eyes widened and—he started laughing. “New mask?” He chuckled. He tore up some of the flatbread and scooped himself a good helping of the stew, grabbing up two chunks of beef. Damn, it actually smelled quite good.

  “Yeah.”

  Before he could get the food into his mouth, he started laughing again. “You're fucking killing me here, D. Swear to God, this is way too funny.”

  Okay, this was starting to get old. I connected with the mask, accessed its user interface, and disabled the expression tracking. Apparently, there were options to make some of the swirly patterns move. Sounded pretty nova, but I wouldn't fuck with them right now.

  “It's the mouth, I think,” Reyes said. “Maybe the eyes are okay. Try keeping those on.”

  I did. “How does it look?”

  “Way better. Dios mío, you’d have made me choke on my Beef Suqaar. Right, let's get to the point. You want me to push your BDs.”

  “Preferably someone that works for you since I doubt you have the time,” I said. He snorted. “I'm willing to test them right here if you want.”

  “Nah, I've got this guy for that,” he nodded his head at the guy besides him, some baldheaded man with sunken eyes and a perennial sulk. He looked like he had tested one too many XBDs already. He had all the markings of a real deal brain potato. Probably couldn't feel emotions that were only his at this point.

  I opened my guitar case and looked for my metal cases of BDs. After a minute of set up, the guy began surfing the BDs.

  “Looks like he’s been under for a while already,” I muttered. “You sure he's even able to tell if it's good or not?”

  “Half-brain, full talent. Don’t let the dead fish stare fool you—he’s got a palate for fidelity like nobody else in town,” Reyes said. “He’ll know if your cuts are the real thing or glorified braindance porn. So,” Reyes said, leaning back in his seat, “What are you looking for here exactly?”

  I kept my eyes on baldy for a second before answering. “Twenty eddies a shard.”

  “Alright,” Reyes said, swirling the last of his drink. “And?”

  “I want a cut of the physical sales too. I know how it goes—you flood the market with softs, the net eats that shit alive, quality gets chewed up. But these?” I tapped the box. “Pristine. Fidelity stays true. You want the real ride, you go physical.”

  “Fair enough. But how much of a cut we talking?” he asked, watching me carefully now.

  My goal was to land at twenty percent. It was low, but it would ensure that Reyes wouldn’t pass the cost onto the consumer in order to fatten up his profit margin. I needed my name to be out there.

  But I knew that if I started so low, he’d only fleece me further. Thus, I needed to propose a starting number that wasn’t insultingly high, but also ambitious enough. “Fifty percent,” I said, eyes steady.

  Reyes let out a short laugh, like I’d told a joke. “Fifty? You’re out of your mind, chico.”

  “Let’s not pretend you’re gonna sit on these,” I said. “Word gets out? They’ll be trading hands from Japantown to Dogtown like they're relics. And I’ve got more where that came from.”

  Reyes scratched at his chin, gave the bald tester a glance—guy was still jacked in, breathing like he was dreaming. “Let’s see what he has to say first.”

  After the guy finished surfing both BDs, he went into a holo call with Reyes that lasted one minute.

  Then he sighed.

  “I can do thirty.” He said, eyeing me intently.

  Just as I was about to say ‘deal’, Nanny interrupted me, manifesting on top of the table and crouching before El Capitan, glaring at him. [Forty-five], she demanded.

  D: He might make ‘em too expensive.

  She turned to me and huffed. [More money.]

  She wasn’t wrong.

  “Forty-five,” I said.

  Reyes hissed. “You serious, kid? Thirty’s a great number.”

  [Stand firm.]

  D: The fuck do you even know about negotiation?

  [So all that corp-studying you did was clearly just rote memorization, then—we have access to the same information. I’m just choosing to use it.]

  “Forty-five,” I repeated, unable to formulate a proper sentence while my mind was half dedicated to being pissed at Nanny.

  “Forty, final offer,” Reyes said.

  [Take it.]

  Seemed like a mild waste of time to me, given that I wasn’t going to rely on this income stream in any case.

  [Money,] Nanny repeated.

  But money. She was right. I guess there was the principle to consider.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Forty,” Reyes repeated. “But. If your name doesn’t sell, you’re eating that loss too.”

  I smiled. “Deal.”

  000

  After I concluded my biz and got my order of beef from Nas—to go, of course, and suitably enough, extremely expensive given the ingredients that went into it—I debated on where else to go. Home and the Jin to give him his chips? Nah. That didn't have to be today anyway. He just wanted them as soon as they hit the streets—but what did he know about the economy of XBDs anyway? He just wanted them before some other schmuck from a rival corp school could get their hands on them. There was still ample time for that. I would have to reach him anyhow for the data on this street race he wanted me to compete in.

  After briefly hitting a liquor store, coming away with seven bottles of assorted drinks and mixers, I made my way straight home to find Lucy on her couch, swiping through her cyberdeck lazily.

  She launched into an explanation of her activities instantly. “I've got it narrowed down to three options now. Megabuilding VIP section in Santo—way better than it sounds, and with a pretty kickass view to boot. Charter Hill tower apartment with a view of the Badlands. Another option for the same building but with a view of the Corpo Plaza.” She shot me a bunch of different stills for me to peruse. “One in Vista Del Rey with a pretty corpo view. We got one in Little China too with a water view. I'm partial to it, but there's a bit of Arasaka Waterfront on the edge of the view so… eh.”

  “I thought you said three,” I dropped the guitar case on the ground and headed to the kitchen to put the bag of food and the bottles of booze on the counter. “And I thought I didn't have a choice in the matter.”

  “This is your chance to have a choice in the matter,” she said. “Pick out the three I was actually considering.”

  “Uhhh, no fucking clue,” I muttered. “Will you get bitchy if I'm wrong?”

  “I'm never bitchy.”

  I snorted. “Okay. The megabuilding, the badlands view from Charter Hill and the one in Little China.” I was guessing that she hated the Arasaka tower more than she hated a bit of the view of the saka port.

  She didn't say anything for a moment. Then…

  “Fuck you.”

  What? “Fuck you! Hah, I was right, wasn't I?”

  “Alright then, Mr. Always Right. Which one would you pick?”

  Honestly I'd have preferred the corpo view. It was just a lot prettier.

  “Water sounds preem. Little China?” I was already imagining it. It sounded calm, beautiful. Simple, really. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

  “...nah.” The fuck?

  I furrowed my eyebrows. “Do you… want me to weigh in, Lucy?”

  “Of course. You'll live there too.”

  If she was just gonna shoot down my suggestions… “I'm fine with whatever you decide.”

  "So am I, babe."

  Don’t get mad, David.

  “How about, instead of all that, we eat something? Got some real beef while I was out.” I honed in on a bottle of tequila and sighed. The booze was a good idea after all. Hopefully, by the time we were done eating and drinking, the rest of the day would go that much more smoothly.

  https://discord.gg/W5BqBBym28