January 30th, 2069 – 08:00
Night City
Marco Ramirez
"It's like people aren't even people anymore…"
Marco gave the streets of Arroyo a quick scan, eyes drifting over the near-empty sidewalks. The few pedestrians still out moved like ghosts — adrift in a city that had forgotten how to live. Ever since the war was declared, nobody seemed to know what to do. No playbook for moving forward.
Sure, Southern California — Night City included — had thrown in with the Myers bloc. On paper, at least. But that didn't mean the fighting would skip them. Nothing ever worked that clean. Not in a world like this. The uncertainty clung to everything like acid fog, and Marco could feel it settling deep in his bones. Watching a city this alive go hollow… it ate at you.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, half out of habit, and frowned. That itch again. Never a good sign. Every time it flared up, something bad was on the horizon. Last time, it was a bar brawl at Lizzie's. Then the bombings. Then the war.
Now it was back. That same damned itch, whispering that things were about to break sideways.
Marco exhaled — one of those tired sighs you stop noticing after too long in Night City — and shot a glance over his shoulder, trying to quiet the static of rising paranoia.
At first glance, everything looked normal. Or what passed for normal lately. A few drifters slinking by — shadows of who they used to be. Punks in neon threads, trying too hard to matter. Corner squatters with glassy eyes and nowhere to go. Trash scattered across the pavement like confetti from a party no one survived.
And then — there she was.
His eyes locked on her like a hook catching flesh.
In a crowd full of Night City weirdos, she stood out like a gunshot in a church. A girl. Marco didn't react, but his attention sharpened fast.
The first thing that hit him was how striking she was. Long blue hair that faded into a soft, icy azure. Bright pink eyes with spiraled pupils — designer, no doubt. A cute face — probably sculpted — with fine cyber lines tracing her cheeks and a tiny heart tattoo just below her right eye. At a glance, she didn't look all that unusual.
But Marco's gaze dropped lower — and that's when it clicked.
She was rocking serious chrome. Combat-grade. Military-spec augments — stuff civvies didn't wear. And casually slung over one arm: a high-frequency katana. The kind meant for professionals. Close-quarters killers.
And right now, she was staring directly at him.
Marco didn't need to think twice.
He jolted back like he'd grabbed a live wire, nearly knocking over a bystander, then triggered his Sandevistan and bolted into the nearest alley. Adrenaline hit like a freight train as he pushed for distance — fast and hard.
He didn't need confirmation. He knew she was coming.
In this line of work, you learn to listen to that gut feeling. Instinct. Paranoia. Sixth sense. Whatever you call it, his was blaring loud and clear: Run.
As he sprinted through the alley, Marco fired up his neural comms, dialing his mentor. If someone had a target on him, he sure as hell wasn't dying solo. Maybe he could warn the old man. Maybe they could rally backup.
Assuming he survived long enough to make the call.
Outgoing Call – Jeremy Martinez
"Jeremy, it's Marco. We've got a problem. Feels like someone just slapped a bounty on our heads. Some chick loaded with combat chrome is chasing me through Arroyo. I'm near Mega Building Seven. If you're free, backup would be real nice. Looks like those 'issues' Zorge warned us about didn't take long to show."
Jeremy's reply came fast — no hesitation. Fabric rustled and gear clinked faintly in the background as he scrambled to gear up.
"You've seriously got a gift for stepping in it, you know that? Try to make it to Rancho Coronado — I'll intercept you there."
"And while you're at it, get in touch with Wakako," Marco added, ducking into another side alley and triggering his Sandevistan again. The world blurred, neon and concrete streaking past as he widened the gap between himself and the chrome-plated angel of death on his tail. "The girl's giving off major Asian mob vibes."
"You sure we shouldn't loop in Alex?"
Marco hissed through his teeth. "Not unless we have to. I'd rather not drag mi amigo into this mess just yet."
"Alright. We only call him if things go full septic," Jeremy said, already digging through his kit for the heavy pistol he'd picked up last week. "I'm ten out."
Connection Terminated – Call Ended
As the line went dead, Marco threw a glance over his shoulder.
Yep. Still there. Same girl. Electric-blue hair. That disturbingly sweet smile. Closing fast.
Normally, Marco wouldn't mind being chased by a knockout in heels. Under different circumstances, he might've even tried flirting — ask her name, offer a drink, see where things went.
But this one? This one was holding a sword. A very nice sword. The kind that could turn him into sashimi with clinical precision and zero remorse. His gut wasn't interested in romance.
It had only one message, loud and clear: run!
***
January 30th, 2069 – 08:15
Jeremy Martinez
"What's the rush?" Gloria asked, watching her husband with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as he hastily pulled on his clothes. The focused, almost grim look on his face told her this wasn't just about some early workout. Something was wrong — serious wrong. And Gloria, being who she was, had no intention of staying on the sidelines.
"A mutual friend's in trouble," Jeremy said, keeping it vague. "Work-related."
That was all he gave her. Not because he didn't trust her — Gloria could keep a secret better than most — but because the kind of info rattling around in his head right now? Sharing it would probably do more harm than good.
"Alex?" she guessed.
"Marco," he sighed, shaking his head. The name alone carried enough weight to say the rest.
"Figures," Gloria muttered, rolling her eyes as a dozen chaotic memories of Marco — the human disaster zone — came flooding back.
Jeremy didn't defend him. There wasn't much to defend. He just stayed quiet and grabbed a light tactical vest from the closet. His subdermal armor could already take a sniper round or two without springing a leak, but today didn't feel like a day to roll the dice.
"Babe, can you and David stay inside the tower today?" he asked, adjusting an invisible crease in his vest before looking over at his wife, still lounging in bed.
"It's that serious?" Gloria asked, her voice quiet, steady. When Jeremy nodded without a word, she sighed and flopped back onto the pillow.
"Alright. Just don't make this 'house arrest' thing a habit," she said, waving a lazy hand toward the door. "Go on already."
"No promises," Jeremy said with a crooked smile, buckling a pistol holster to his thigh. He paused, his gaze drifting to the combat knife Alex had given him a while back. After a beat, he grabbed it too.
Just in case.
"Try not to come back full of extra holes," Gloria called after him, her tone laced with dry affection. The door clicked shut behind him a moment later.
She rolled onto her side, trying to drift back to sleep, but her body wasn't having it. After several minutes of restless silence, she exhaled hard and stared up at the ceiling, tension coiling in her chest.
"At this rate, I'll kill Marco myself before some street-level trigger-happy choom does," she muttered, picturing herself strangling that reckless idiot with her own hands. Trouble followed him like he'd taken out a loan from it.
"Screw it. I'm not getting back to sleep anyway."
Throwing off the covers, Gloria padded toward the shower, scooping up yesterday's clothes from the floor as she went. She'd been too wiped to clean up last night — sleep had taken her out before she even hit the pillow.
"Still can't shake this feeling," she murmured, stepping under the icy spray. "Maybe I really should call Alex."
The thought stuck with her as the water ran down her skin. That tight, restless knot in her gut wasn't letting go. She'd seen too many times how fast things could spiral when people hesitated.
And this?
This was starting to feel like one of those times.