Having recently finished playing Cyberpunk 2077, I certainly understand the divisive opinion towards it. Overall, however, I enjoyed it. I did. Sue me.

After the arguably best ending, leaving Night City with Panam, this itch appeared in my mind and wouldn't go away until I put it to paper...digital paper.

As for my extended lack of updates, please read the note at the bottom.

He knew it was only a matter of time.

He tried, he really did, to find a solution - a cure - to his rapidly degenerating condition. After leaving Night City with his new friends - a nomadic clan known as the Aldecaldos - who took him in and made him part of the family, they traveled far and wide across the States, looking for the barest hint of something that could help him.

An unlicensed doctor willing to risk his "career" to attempt an operation.

An experimental procedure that could slow the progression to a crawl.

Untested pills that could abate the symptoms.

Anything.

But it was all for naught.

Quite the contrary, in some cases, he was left worse off than if he didn't accept whatever the procedure might have been.

Once, he was the mercenary to be feared. A deadly amalgamation of man and machine that struck fear into his enemies, awe into his friends, and had everyone scrambling to hire him for his services.

Now, here he was, a husk of his former self, breathing through a tube on a comfortable hospital bed in a Far more luxurious than the cots most of his family had, but they considered him worth the effort.

He didn't.

As he breathed, he could feel a tickle growing in his throat that quickly led to another coughing fit. It eventually abated, but they were growing more frequent. By the month, by the week, by the day, and now by the hour.

He was living on borrowed time.

Time, which was soon to run out.

Their nomadic group had finally made it to the Atlantic, to a town right on the sea where one of their last favors managed to get him checked into a hospital with an ocean view. The room was clean, the bed was comfortable, and the hospital staff was nice enough.

But he knew what they were doing; he knew what they saw when they looked at him.

They saw a terminally ill patient that was past the point where they could even pretend to treat him. They were making his last days – hours – comfortable. He could appreciate that, he supposed.

The doctor had just left after his latest checkup and V could tell by the look in his eyes that it was almost time. Panam had slept in the hospital chair next to his bed – as she had since they finally left Nighty City together - so she was there when the doctor arrived and much quieter when he left.

"Panam," he said, his voice weak and gravelly, "I'd like to go outside."

"You can't, V," she replied with the slightest tremble in her voice. "The doctor said…"

"I know what the doc said. Please, Panam."

She said nothing and stared at him for a few seconds before she whispered, "Okay."

Wordlessly, she disconnected him from the hospital bed and helped him to the wheelchair provided for them. Once he was comfortable and secure, she covered him with a blanket and gently wheeled him out.

After a short elevator ride down, the two found themselves walking through the hospital's private garden for patients and visitors. It was set up right on the beach, allowing the hospital staff and patients a break from the sterile environment of a hospital room.

"Don't you dare think about giving up, V." Panam threatened him as she pushed him down a path toward the sand. "We're not done yet, you and me. Not by a long shot."

V sighed. "I'm not giving up, Panam. I'm giving in."

He then gasped when he saw it.

"Panam. Look."

She did, and she couldn't deny her breath caught in her throat when she saw what he saw.

The sunrise peeking over the horizon of the Atlantic. Its bright orange light reflecting off the ocean water, creating a magnificent blinding show. This early in the day, there were only a few people out and about and nobody on the beach.

"It's beautiful," she admitted.

"Panam," he whispered, "come here."

She moved from behind him and kneeled so they could be face-to-face, unintentionally putting the sun behind her, giving her a holy radiance.

"Now…it's perfect."

She blushed then, her mind connecting the dots of what he was talking about. She would've stood up then, ruining his fun, if not…

With what little strength he had left, he slowly raised his right hand. He tenderly caressed her face, his hands cold and frail, but she didn't care. She would never slap his hand away, especially not now.

He let out a breath, his last one. But it wasn't a final breath of pain – he hadn't died in a firefight like he always assumed he would – his last breath was one of peace and acceptance.

He fought the good fight.

He finished the race.

He won the game.

And now…he was going to get his reward.

"What a…lucky…man I…was…"

And then he was gone.

She choked back a sob, she refused to cry here. But it was hard. She covered her mouth with one hand to muffle her pain. When she managed to gather herself, she smiled and kissed the love of her life on the cheek.

"We're going to be fine, V," Panam said, rubbing his cheek, relishing the warmth that was already ebbing away. "You made sure we're going to be fine. Rest now, and I'll see you in the next life."

Alright. Looks like I've got a bit of explaining to do.

A couple weeks ago, right around the time I fully intended on updating "He Who Guards the Avengers", I started a new full-time job about an hours drive away from my house. Obviously, that has cut massively into the already small amount of time I had to write. I am sorry if I've disappointed any of you, but it looks like updates will be remaining relatively sparse.

But not abandoned.

Let me be clear: I have no intention on abandoning any of my stories and, if I ever do, I will let you know. I hate it when my favorite writers leave me on hold only to reveal they had given up on it, and I certainly am not going to do that to you guys.

With that said, until next time.