I hate this place.
David sullenly stared out the window of his mother's car, his attention split between the scathing lecture his mother was giving him and the Night City skyline slowly drifting by as they drove along the freeway. It was a miracle that the academy hadn't outright expelled him, given how much money he had just cost the academy with his little stunt. Unfortunately, they had saddled his mom with the repair costs, which were way out of their budget.
He understood why his mom was pissed at him, but it wasn't like he had gone and short circ'd the system maliciously; he was just trying to save them a few bucks. They were tight enough on eddies as it was, and his ripper was usually trustworthy enough, so there was no way he could've known that the jerry-rigged braindance wreath would corrupt the entire academy network.
He was glad he hadn't been expelled, if only for his mom's sake, but even so, he had no clue how she planned to come up with the money to pay for his mistake.
"I told you I'd buy the wreath update! Why the hell'd you get some hack-job third-party version? Now we owe ten times what it would've cost to buy it!" she scolded him.
"I said I'm sorry, okay?!" he retorted. "You said you didn't have the money, so I did what I thought I had to!"
"I get paid Fridays! If you were more patient, I could've bought it in time, and we wouldn't be in this situation!" she chided him forcefully.
He sighed, slumping back in his chair, trying to rein in his frustration so he wouldn't take everything out on his mom. She worked hard enough as it was; she didn't deserve to deal with his bullshit on top of that.
"Sorry. I just…" he trailed off, not really knowing what to say. "I don't know. Maybe I should just drop out."
"What?!"
He shrugged, uncaring.
"Come on, mom. We can barely even afford my tuition. You keep pickin' up more shifts every year. Soon enough, you'll be working twenty-four/seven. And it's not like I'm respected there or anything. All my classmates just think I'm fuckin' street trash. They hate that I'm there at all. So even if I graduate, what's gonna happen? You think the corpos are suddenly gonna bend over backwards to hire me? All the exec's kids will just tell them I'm some delinquent and they'll reject any application I send in. Or if I do get hired, I'll be stuck at the bottom rung for half my life. It'll be the same shit as school all over again," David ranted, waving his hand in the air lazily.
His mom sniffled.
"And? So what?" she responded, her voice thick with emotion.
He sat up straighter, looking back over at her to see if she was alright, and realized that he had probably hurt her feelings far worse than he realized. Tears were slowly dripping down her cheeks, and her bottom lip was quivering, like she was one step away from breaking down and bawling uncontrollably. The dark circles under her eyes and stress lines across her forehead were much more pronounced than usual, further emphasizing just how exhausted she really was.
"You think I don't go through the same thing? Nobody at my job respects me, either, David! That's how it is! We're poor! We're lower-class! But what are we supposed to do? Prove them right? Even if you aren't respected at Arasaka, at least you'll be at Arasaka! You won't be working sixteen-hour shifts just to pay rent!" she paused, sniffling and wiping her nose on the hem of her hi-vis jacket. "You won't have to worry about starving or being in debt or getting involved with criminals just to pay your bills! So who cares if your coworkers don't like you? Being disrespected is still better than dying on the street, David!"
David swallowed guiltily. He hated when his mom cried. She had always tried to be strong for them both, and she almost never broke down in front of him—certainly not this badly, anyway. He must've really fucked up this time.
God, I'm such a fuckin' tool.
"Mom, mom, you're right, I'm sorry. I was just pissed off; I didn't mean it. Don't cry, mom, please. I'll—I'll keep going to the academy, I promise," he panicked, trying to calm her down.
Gloria sniffled and wiped her tears, looking over at him. "You promise?"
"I promise," he said solemnly, setting his hand on her shoulder comfortingly.
She rested her hand atop his, giving him a watery smile. "Thank you, David. I love you so much; you know that. I…I just want you to live a good, long life. Just be safe, and live happily. That's all I ask."
"I'll do my best," he told her sincerely, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. "Love you too, mom."
Three seconds later, the loud, distinct report of a rifle roared behind them. The car lurched to one side, its rear tire blown out by the bullet, causing them both to jerk forward in their seats. Only their seatbelts saved them from flying out of the windshield and onto the pavement, where they undoubtedly would have become little more than a splatter of blood and gore coating the highway.
Gloria immediately floored it. "Fucking shit!"
"What the hell?!" he exclaimed, doing his best to turn around in his seat so he could see who was shooting at them. "We bein' robbed or something?"
"Honey, remember how I just told you to get a good corporate job, so you don't get involved with criminals?" His mom shouted, swerving the car to one side as another shot rang out. David glanced back at her, confused, before squinting back out the rear window and spotting what looked to be some sort of armored vehicle aggressively following them. It looked a lot more advanced than any of the hobbled-together APCs that the local gangs like Sixth Street primarily drove, so he had to assume that whoever was following them was either working for one of the corps, or they were gangsters that had just stolen a sleek top-of-the-line ride, and were about to have MaxTac called in on them any minute now.
He wasn't particularly excited about either of those options. MaxTac was known for only being called in after the death toll got high enough.
"Yeah?" he asked, afraid he knew the answer already.
"This is why!" she answered, weaving the car through highway traffic in a frenzied attempt to escape their pursuers, causing quite a few near-misses and a lot of other angry drivers to honk their horns at her. But when they heard the gunshots coming from the vehicle behind them, they were suddenly very quick to start getting out of the way.
David dared to get a second look at the vehicle pursuing them, hoping against hope that whoever was chasing them was just some small-time gang that caught a really lucky break and had decided to terrorize a random highway while high on power. Unfortunately, one look at the man that was climbing halfway out of the passenger's side window told him that was not the case.
Fully dressed in urban camouflage combat fatigues and strapped with gear David had never even seen before, the helmeted man pulled out long, high-caliber rifle, brought it up to his shoulder and took aim, even while both cars were swerving back and forth across the highway, trying to line up his shot. The muzzle brake swayed back and forth unsteadily as Gloria swerved frantically to avoid the now-panicking traffic, but after a few seconds, his aim steadied, and David knew that he had a lock on them.
"Down!" he shouted, tucking himself into a ball to make himself as small as possible. His mom veered the car erratically one more time in a desperate attempt to avoid the shot, pulling her own head down, but their popped tire was crippling their control. There was no way they would be able to avoid it. David braced for the inevitable.
A single shot rang out, clear as a bell, and the car exploded.
David groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His head was pounding. is entire back felt like one big bruise. Small cuts and lacerations littered his body, and he could feel some small shards and slivers of glass stuck in his arms, face and neck. It didn't feel like any of them had hit anything fatal, but he slowly brought one shaking hand up to feel his jugular just in case.
Okay, I'm not dying.
His seatbelt was locked shut, he realized as soon as he pressed the button to unbuckle. He pressed the button a couple more times, just to make sure, then started digging around his seat, the floor of the car, the dashboard and anywhere else he could reach, looking for a shard of glass that was sharp enough to use as a makeshift knife, and after accidentally nicking his hands once or twice, he finally found a suitable one. Yanking it out of the side of his seat, he quickly slashed open his seatbelt and shoulder-checked the door open, stumbling out of the car.
David brushed the loose glass off of his clothes, his breath expelling so shakily that it almost sounded like laughter. He was still alive, somehow. The force of the explosion had sent the vehicle careening off of the highway and onto the mostly empty streets below, where it had crumpled under the weight of its own impact. The fact that he hadn't immediately flatlined during the landing was a fucking miracle.
I didn't think it was even possible to survive something like that.
He blinked.
Did mom?
His head snapped back to the totaled car, vision tunneling in on the empty driver's seat. It had been torn halfway to shreds, and a trail of blood ran from the seat all the way up and over the broken driver's side window, where his mother had presumably crawled out. Probably alive, then, but definitely not okay.
"Mom!" he shouted, searching around frantically for her. If she was bleeding as badly as he feared, then he had to get her to a hospital immediately. Even if they were still being chased by…whoever those guys were, they'd have to find an exit ramp and comb the streets to find them, so he probably had a few minutes to try and shake them before they caught up.
However, his mother's condition was even worse than he feared.
He found her slumped over in an awkward position, leaning against the front wheel at an odd angle. Large shards of warped metal had been embedded into her back and legs, piercing straight through her high-visibility jacket, and she was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds all over her body. A coating of soot covered her right side, most likely from the explosion, though David couldn't tell whether or not she had gotten burned from the blast. He could hear a pained groan quietly escape her as she tried to sit up.
She didn't succeed.
"Mom!" he rushed to her side, grabbing her carefully by the shoulders and carefully turning her to face him. Her face was stretched into a despondent grimace; she looked almost entirely unaware of her surroundings, but upon recognizing him, her lips curled upwards into a faint smile.
"David…you're okay…" she gasped, slowly lifting her hand up to cup his cheek. "That's good…."
"Mom, we gotta get you to a hospital! Come on!"
She shook her head slowly, wistfully. "Sorry, kiddo…I don't think I can move…."
"I can carry you! Here, hold out your hands, I can run you to the closest clinic!" he shifted around to try and gingerly pick her up, careful to avoid touching any of the shrapnel buried in her skin.
"No…David, you…you've gotta get out of here…those people…gonna come back for me…" she refused, pressing her palm gently against his chest.
"No! I'm not leaving you, mom!" he protested, his hands shaking. He was gonna get her out of there. He was going to save her.
He had to.
"David…my son…my sun…" she gave him a weak, watery smile. He could feel her hand on his chest start to shake. It must have taken almost all of her strength just to keep her hand there. "I love you so, so much. So…please, run away…these people…they'll kill you…."
"I'm not gonna just leave you to die!" he yelled, unable to keep control of his emotions. The tears burned hot as they welled up in his eyes—almost as hot as his mother's blood running down his hands as he held her close. "I won't lose you, mom…."
"There's nothing—" she coughed, hacking up blood from her lungs. "—nothing you can…do for me. We can't—can't stop them…so, save yourself…and live a long, happy life…like I told you to…."
"Mom!" he cried desperately, refusing to let her go. How the hell was he supposed to live without her? She was all he had in life. The only person he cared about, and the only person who cared about him. To abandon her here would be as if he were to willingly give up on everything.
Another round of bloody coughs wracked her body. The blood was pouring out faster, now; he could feel it running down his arms. She pressed her hand into his chest with the slightest bit more force.
"David…go."
He swallowed deeply, staring into her eyes. They were both crying, now. He could feel the tears flowing freely down his face as she gently patted his cheek.
"Please."
He could hear the rumbling of a heavy vehicle not too far off from them, likely getting closer by the second. They were nearly out of time. The longer they stayed, the more she bled—and the likelihood of their pursuers finding them became greater and greater.
Swallowing down his emotions as if a needle in his throat, David nodded quickly, hugged and kissed her one last time, then he ran.
The nearest alleyway was a little farther than he thought. He quickly sprinted across the street before swinging himself into the nearest alleyway, running all the way to the far end of the narrow path. The alley hooked right sharply, suggesting a way out, but as David turned the corner, he immediately realized it was a dead end. Only a single metal door sat innocuously on the left wall, barring his sole path to freedom.
David checked the door. Locked. The keyhole was also rusted over, likely from years of disuse, so he wouldn't be able to pick the lock, either. His only hope was to try and ram the door and pray that the dilapidation and rust had settled into the steel deeply enough that he could break it with a good shoulder check or two.
He threw himself at the door once, twice, thrice, slamming his shoulder into it repeatedly. He could see some of the rust falling off, but it seemed that it was only rusted over on the surface. The door held strong, and the lock clearly wasn't going to budge. Picking up a broken piece of cement off the ground, he tried to smash the doorhandle with it, hoping it would pop right off and he would be able to manipulate the bolt directly, but even after striking it repeatedly with the rock, the only thing he had managed to accomplish was further deepen the injuries covering his hands.
He'd have to turn back. Find another way out.
Fuck!
David growled, frustrated, before sprinting back down the alleyway and towards the entrance. He was originally planning to immediately make a break for it, but just as he exited the alley, the armored vehicle from before rolled up to his mom's busted car and stopped a few yards in front of it. He quickly ducked back behind the alley corner, his heart pounding, hoping desperately that he hadn't been spotted.
A few seconds passed, then a minute. He held his breath nearly the entire time. After nobody could be heard approaching his hiding spot, David took a deep breath worked up the courage to take a peek out of the alleyway.
The vehicle had stopped in full view of his mother. Four men stepped out of the car, each wearing identical combat fatigues and carrying expensive-looking assault rifles. One of them gave some sort of hand signal, and they all fanned out into a semicircle, keeping their distance, but cutting off any potential escape routes for his mother. As one of them took position in full view of his alley, he could see that they had some sort of battalion patch stitched onto their shoulder. It was a bit difficult to make it out at a distance, but from what he could see, it looked like an artistic depiction of an animal's eye, with some sort of blue spiral behind it. Maybe a whirlpool or hurricane. David wasn't particularly sure what to make of it, but he would definitely remember the symbol, assuming he made it out alive.
The soldiers glanced back and forth at each other, confirming their target's condition before lowering their guard. They started talking to each other, saying something about a sample, but he wasn't quite close enough to hear their conversation too clearly. One of them jerked their head back toward their vehicle, issuing some order he couldn't hear.
Then a single shot rang out, and the man fell over, dead.
Gloria Martinez, still leaning awkwardly against the front wheel of her wrecked car, had shot him.
Holding a small pistol in one hand and what looked like a test tube of dark liquid in the other, his mother gave the soldiers a fierce, vindictive grin. The other three immediately trained their rifles on her, but she pulled her pistol back, setting the muzzle against the vial, which apparently made the soldiers much more wary, if the fact that they didn't immediately shoot her was any indication.
"Drop it!" one of the soldiers commanded. "Set the gun and the sample down! Slowly!"
His mom let out a laugh—hacking and watery, from the blood slowly filling her punctured lungs—and did not move. Even from the alleyway, David could see her eyes burning with determination, still grinning victoriously despite the blood running down her chin.
"You tried to kill my son," she wheezed out defiantly, her voice ringing out clearly across the street despite her condition. Her grip tightened on her pistol.
"Rot in hell."
She pulled the trigger.
The vial shattered, and the dark liquid splashed everywhere, evaporating into a black, inky mist that rapidly diffused throughout the street like a blanket of smoke. The remaining soldiers opened fire on Gloria, tearing her torso to shreds with their rifles. Blood, flesh and bone splattered along the side of her car as the roar of automatic fire drowned out all other sound—including his screams.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
David's legs were moving on their own before he even realized it. He raced back to his mother, uncaring of the danger present. One of the soldiers noticed him running towards her and quickly shifted his aim towards him, but he didn't care. He had to keep running; had to get to his mom, alive or otherwise. Nothing else mattered.
Two sharp spikes of pain lanced through his torso. Hot agony bloomed across his chest like sakura blossoms in spring, the bullets twisting and warping his organs and cracking his bones on impact. He stumbled, still trying to reach his mother, but one more shot hit him in the side, and he dropped like a stone.
"Who the hell's that?" one of the soldiers called out.
"Probably the son!"
"Either way, he's a witness. Let's get out of here, call a hazmat team. The gas is spreading," the soldier in the middle commanded.
The man that shot him looked back. "Should we finish him first?"
"No, leave him. He'll die either way."
David crawled forward with his good arm, trying to fight through the excruciating pain. He was losing blood fast, and his left arm was steadily becoming numb. He couldn't move it very well anymore. Even so, though, he refused to be anything but stubborn and defiant.
Just like his mother.
"You killed her! You fucking monsters! Pieces of shit!" he roared at the soldiers, the tightness in his chest becoming more and more excruciating.
"See?! he's still alive!" one of them called out to their commander.
"Leave him!" the man ordered, already heading back to their vehicle.
David screamed out at them with every bit of white-hot pain and rage he had in his body, ignoring the convulsions in his lungs and throat.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU COCKSUCKERS! I'LL RIP OUT YOUR FUCKING BONES AND SKEWER YOU WITH THEM!"
He tried to stand up, but his legs refused cooperate. He collapsed, trying to drag himself across the street by his fingertips, but he was losing feeling in both arms, now. Everything was growing colder. He could feel the darkness encroaching.
The soldiers started to turn their backs on him, their mission complete.
If only I could stand…if only I could get up and fight….
He hacked up a glob of blood, trying desperately to move his arms, his legs, anything at all.
I'd make them all pay.
Vision fading, barely conscious, David watched as the pitch-black gas began to move almost on its own, as if it was…almost alive, somehow. It began to coalesce around him, surrounding him…then invaded his body through his wounds.
He felt like he was on fire all over again. Like his veins were being boiled and frozen over at the same time, like lightning and magma were spreading through his entire body, like his muscles were being separated strand by strand and braided together with monowire. The pain of getting shot was nothing compared to this.
David screamed, strangled and breathless, barely even able to make a sound. One of the soldiers heard him, though, and turned around to witness what was happening to him. He watched, barely cognizant, as the man took a step back fearfully.
"What the hell?! Why weren't we informed about—"
David gave himself over to the pain, and the black consumed him.
"Test sample eight-seven-four-A—"
"—Your responsibility to secure—"
"Fuck, they're gonna fuckin' kill me—"
"—Tested well against the cybernetic—"
"—Sure this is a good idea—"
"Not even Adam Smasher—"
"—After the disaster in Idaho—"
"—Gotta wipe everything. Can't let this be—"
"What happened to Doctor—"
"—Has the potential to bring us—"
"The world isn't prepared for this kind of—"
"—Designation: Blacklight."
David gasped awake, staring up at an unfamiliar, sterile white ceiling.
He was surprised he had awoken at all.
…What the hell?
He swallowed reflexively. His throat was dry and scratchy. He had been screaming, he was pretty sure. He remembered that pretty distinctly, along with getting shot.
He also remembered wearing significantly more clothing than he currently was.
A light, thin blanket covered most of his body, and a small, uncomfortable pillow rested behind his head. Something plastic had been strapped around his mouth and nose with a rubber band, causing his nose to itch.
David tried to sit up, but had to stop himself halfway on account of his vision starting to swim. His head felt like someone had driven a steel wedge into it. Groaning and wiping his eyes with one hand to try and clear up his vision a bit more, he slowly forced himself to sit up the rest of the way, ignoring the stiffness in his muscles and taking a quick look around the room.
The walls were the same aseptic white that the ceiling was, and the countertops and cupboards were all a strange, artificial mint green. A few boxes of bandages and disinfectant wipes sat next to the metal sink, and the door was reinforced with a heavy, airtight seal around the frame. If someone wanted to keep him locked up, David had no doubt that a room like this would be more than sufficient enough to keep him trapped here.
Glancing down at his bare torso, he realized that all the pain from before was gone. No bullet wounds, no bleeding, none of the effects from whatever the hell that black mist was. There weren't even any scars. He ran a hand across his skin, checking for any surgery scars, stitches or skin grafts, but he found nothing. It was like he'd never been injured in the first place.
Damn, doctors do some pretty incredible work.
The seal around the door suddenly depressurized, making a loud, hissing sound, and the door swung open. An old, grizzled, gray-haired doctor walked into the room, greeting him with a tired nod.
"Evening, kid. Good to see you awake," he said, pulling out a small datapad and tapping away on it for a few seconds. "How you feeling?"
David shrugged. "Head hurts. Kinda hungry. This the meat wagon?"
The doctor nodded sadly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose in a way that directed David's attention to the stress wrinkles creasing his forehead. "Yeah, it is. Trauma team found you half-conscious in the street, a few blocks from a totaled yellow Galena. I assume that was yours?"
"It was my mom's, yeah," David responded, before blinking.
Mom.
"Shit, my mom! Did—is she…?" he asked suddenly, desperate but hopeful. If the doctors had healed him as well as they had, then maybe they….
The older man shook his head, dashing his hopes. "Sorry, kid. She was long dead by the time we got to you. Nothing we could do for her."
David hung his head, hands tightening, before he forcibly stopped himself from immediately lashing out. The doctor had helped him; he didn't deserve David's anger. "Nothing at all? But you guys…."
"Kid, I don't know how much you remember, but you were found holding her body three blocks away from the crash site. If it weren't for the ID in her neural phone, I don't know if we would've been able to identify her at all," the doc explained, a pitying look in his eyes.
He took a shuddering breath, holding back the tears that threatened to well up and spill over. His mom was dead, then. It was confirmed. He'd never see her again; he'd never hear her voice, or wait for her to come home from her job, tired and hungry and overworked. He would never wake her up off the couch because she couldn't be bothered to sleep in her own bed.
She was just…gone.
David forced himself to keep it together. He refused to break down now, in front of some stranger. It wouldn't solve anything.
It won't bring mom back.
"Oh."
The doctor patted him on the shoulder, then gently unhooked the oxygen mask from his face. "I'm surprised you were found in such good condition, given you were in that crash, too. Just a few hours on the oxy tank and you were good as new," he smiled behind his medical mask, shaking the breathing apparatus in his hand for effect.
"What?" he couldn't stop himself from asking. "But I had—I was…."
"Hm? You were what?"
David stopped himself from answering. Apparently, his recovery wasn't due to the doctors. Had someone else healed him? Did he somehow recover on his own?
Maybe the entire thing was just a big hallucination. He wasn't sure. But if he had actually been shot and then somehow healed beforehand, then informing a city-employed doctor of his supposedly miraculous recovery probably wasn't the best idea. If that report ever made it up to the corporations, then he could very well end up a lab rat for one of them.
He had heard of some of those missing children's case rumors. They weren't pretty.
He shook his head. "It's nothing. I probably just inhaled some fumes from the wreckage, it's messing with my head a little. Some things are still a little fuzzy."
The old man nodded sympathetically. "It's possible. Some o' those older models were built in factories that had some pretty shoddy quality control standards, from what I heard."
"Wouldn't be surprised."
About a minute or two passed in silence, interrupted only by the light taps of the doc's fingers against his datapad, but he soon handed the datapad over to David.
"Here, kid. You didn't need much in the way o' treatment, so I'm only charging you a few hundred for the oxy. Just sign at the bottom."
He took the pad, quickly scratching in a rough signature with his finger. The price wasn't bad, especially considering he didn't have any insurance. He didn't have all that much in his account, but selling JK's XBDs had helped him save up a small nest egg, so he could at least afford this.
Most of the more expensive burial options were probably still way beyond his reach, though.
"I assume you're gonna cremate her?" the doctor asked him.
He nodded. "Yeah. Can't really afford the more expensive options."
"Mmh," he grunted, staring down at the datapad David passed back to him. "Tell you what, kid. I'll cover the cremation charge."
David blinked, taken aback. "Really? You sure?"
"I'm sure, kid. On the house." The man sighed, rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand. "No one should have to see their ma flatlined like that."
He took a deep breath, trying to keep focused, then nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate it, doc; I really do. But, uh, I need to ask one more thing."
"What's that?"
"Can you remove her neural phone before you…cremate her?" he asked, trying his hardest to keep his voice from cracking. "I've gotta get her affairs all in order, so I'll probably need that."
The doctor nodded. "I can. That'll cost extra, though."
"That's fine," he accepted tiredly.
"Alright. I'll have it done. Just wait out in the lobby, and I should have her phone and urn out in about an hour."
David nodded curtly, then slid out of the bed, tossing on his shirt and academy jacket and slipping out the door.
He just wanted this day to be over, already.
The doctor had delivered him his mother's urn and her phone, along with the tattered remains of her yellow EMS jacket. The body of it had been torn to shreds, both from the bullet holes and the shrapnel from the crash, and the sleeves weren't in much better condition. He was really glad that the doctor had salvaged it, but he could barely stand to look at it. Every time he saw the holes in the jacket, he could see his mother getting shot to death all over again, the scene replaying in his mind like a nightmarish XBD that he couldn't escape from. He ended up folding it up and carrying it under her urn the entire walk home.
Entering his apartment through the vent in the bathroom wall, since his mother hadn't paid their rent on time, he set her urn and jacket down on the small caff table in front of the couch and sat down, utterly exhausted. He was just…done. Fed up. He didn't want to deal with any of this right now; he wished he could just curl up into a ball on the couch and sleep until everything disappeared.
Maybe even until he disappeared.
Now I can see why so many people end up becoming brain potatoes. That sounds pretty fuckin' tempting right about now.
He finally let his self-control slip, loosening the valve holding back all his feelings and allowing the tears to fall freely. He began to cry harder than he had since he was a kid, openly grieving for his mother, who he would never get to speak to again. Who he would never get to tell that he loved her ever again. That he appreciated her. She had done so fucking much for him, working herself to the bone just to try and put food on their table and send him to a good school, all so he could escape the poverty that she had wallowed in her entire life. Gloria had tortured herself with long hours of demeaning work, sacrificing sleep and skipping meals, all to try and make his life better. Even up until very last second, where she had willingly lain down her own life just to give him a better chance to escape.
And what the fuck had he done about it? Whined, bitched, argued and complained.
God, I'm such a piece of shit.
He clutched the fake gold cross hanging from his neck—the first gift his mom had ever given him.
"I'm so sorry, mom," he managed to wheeze out, still sobbing heavily. "I'm sorry I wasn't a better son. I'm sorry I can't make it up to you. You deserved—" he sniffled, "—so much better."
He sat there, head bowed in front of his mother's urn, allowing himself to weep until his tear ducts ran dry. Once the tears had finally stopped falling, he forced himself to stand up and shuffled despondently over to the window, blankly staring out at the night sky. The moon was bright tonight, standing proud even against the towering sky banners endlessly scrolling through various advertisements, competing for space even among the stars.
The city itself was still alive, unsurprisingly. It was named Night City for a reason, after all. Cars drove recklessly across the highways as AVs flew freely between the colossal, imposing skyscrapers and megabuildings. He could practically hear the wild commotion down in the streets below as drunkards and prostitutes partied, cops shook down the homeless and gangbangers tried to make moves, whether robbery or drug peddling. At the center of it all, the corporate towers stood tall, acting as glowing monuments to the city's greed and gluttony.
He despised it.
David's eyes were raw and bloodshot, his throat sore and aching, choked up by the stranglehold of grief. His sorrow slowly gave way to rage, and a familiar sensation of fire and lightning slowly coursed through his veins, circulating throughout his body. It wasn't painful, though, unlike the first time he had felt it. It was…warm, invigorating. He felt more energized, more powerful than he had ever felt before.
Unbeknownst to him, beneath his skin, his veins began to glow black and red, as if molten magma was flowing through his arteries.
Whoever my mom crossed…whoever hunted her down, and whoever put out that hit…I know you're out there. All of you.
David clenched his fist until he could feel his bones creak, then laid his fist across his chest, just above his heart, making a vow upon his mother's ashes.
I'll find you.
And I won't stop until I've killed every last one of you.
