Max left them standing in the blood-soaked warehouse, his figure dissolving into the shadows as if the carnage had never touched him. By the time Maine and his crew lowered their weapons, he was already gone.
Megabuilding H8 – Night City
The rumble of a battered megabus carried Max back across the city, neon bleeding against the cracked windows. By the time he reached the upper tiers of Megabuilding H8, the adrenaline of the fight had cooled into silence.
This wasn't luxury. It wasn't corpo-suite skyline living. His place was one of thousands—stacked concrete blocks, flickering holo-ads buzzing just outside the window, neighbors shouting muffled arguments through thin walls. The air smelled faintly of fried noodles and engine grease. But it was home.
As he stepped into the rented unit, the door barely sliding shut before it jammed halfway, he didn't even have time to set his coat down before arms wrapped around him.
"Thank god, you're back!"
The voice was trembling, raw with relief. His older brother clung to him, nearly knocking the katana from his side.
"I was so scared something worse happened to you, Max—I thought maybe…"
Max froze for a second. His optics dimmed, then refocused, and he gave the faintest exhale that might've been a laugh.
"Hm. I'm fine, James."
James finally let go, eyes still wet, and looked him over as if to reassure himself his brother wasn't missing pieces. Max's coat was stained, his gloves streaked, but his gaze was steady.
"Well… anyway, I'm just glad you're here," James muttered, trying to act casual now. "I kept dinner warm. Synth-steak and kibble, nothing fancy—but it's hot. Come on, before the heat-unit dies again."
He turned toward the cramped kitchen, leaving Max standing at the door. For a moment, Max just watched him, an odd glimmer in his optics—soft, unguarded, something no scav or merc would ever see. Then he stepped in, the katana clicking softly as it slid into its sheath.
Inside, James had already set two dented bowls on the table, the food steaming faintly under the glow of a flickering overhead lamp. The hum of the megabuilding filled the silence between them.
As Max sat down, James tried to distract from the tension.
"Oh—uh, there's something else. Dad got word today. He… he landed a job. Not big, but steady. Corporate janitorial, downtown. He said if I keep my grades up at Arasaka Academy, maybe he can get me in through the scholarship program. It's… it's not much, but it's something, right?"
Max nodded once, quietly."Yeah. Something."
James smiled weakly, taking a bite of the steaming synth-steak. He didn't notice the way Max's hand lingered over his own bowl, or the faint shadow that crossed his optics.
Max picked up his fork and stabbed at the synth-steak. He chewed once, swallowed, then pushed the bowl aside.
"That's enough for me," he said evenly.
The taste was strange—synthetic, hollow. It wasn't that the food was bad. It was that he wasn't used to it. This wasn't his body. These weren't his senses. Every bite felt artificial, like chewing plastic wrapped in spice.
James didn't notice, too busy eating like someone starved. Max only gave him a faint nod and stood, retreating toward the cramped bedroom.
The door slid shut, sealing him in muffled silence. Max exhaled slowly and sank onto the edge of the bed. His optics flickered as his system synced, memories of this body unspooling in jagged fragments across his mind.
Faces. Places. A life that wasn't his.
He pressed his hand against his temple, letting the flood of images sort themselves.
A mother—warm, distant—then gone, lost to the city's endless hunger.
A father, bent-backed, working corpo janitorial wages just to keep the lights from going dark.
Two brothers, James and… himself. Or rather, the boy whose body he now wore. Both shoved into Arasaka Academy, trained not as free people but as gears in the corporate machine.
"So that's how it is," Max murmured, voice low. "This family… three left behind. No mother. A father breaking his back. And me, dropped right in the middle of it all."
He leaned back against the wall, eyes dimming as the memories slotted into place. Soon after, his usual smirk returned.
"Hm, now what to do… keep acting like a good student, or dive into merc work?" he muttered, though the choice was clear. Student by day, merc by night.
"Well, I'm classmates with David, huh. Good," Max mumbled, already planning. "If I move early, I can recruit him into my gang. And Maine's crew doesn't have Lucy yet… I can get her too."
He pushed himself up from the bed and walked toward the window. Leaning against the frame, he looked out at the neon-soaked sprawl.
"Night City, the city of dreams," Max whispered. He had played it in a game once—but this was no game. This was reality, and he was already rewriting the rules of his stay here.
A smirk tugged at his lips. "Hm. To get started with merc work, I'll need to go to Jackie."
He slipped out of his room and called to James casually,
"I'm heading out, see you later." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Oh, by the way, I raided a bunker yesterday. Took it clean, no trouble. Scored some high-grade eddies—left a stash on my modem. Give it to Dad when he's back."
James froze mid-bite, eyes going wide as Max slid a chip loaded with a million eddies back into his room. He sputtered, nearly choking.
"Wait—WHAT?! Where the hell did you get that kind of money!?"
But Max was already heading for the door, waving him off without looking back.
"I hit the score, that's all. Didn't do anything wrong."
He paused, smirk still on his face, then stepped out into the hallway. Behind him, James sat in stunned silence, staring at the money chip as if it might vanish.
"NO—wait! Where did you get it?!" James shouted, but no answer came. The door had already slid shut with a dull hiss, and Max was long gone.
James sat there, the silence of the apartment pressing in around him. Slowly, he lowered his gaze back to the glowing chip in his hand.
"…Is this a dream? Or real?" he whispered, fingers trembling as he held it tighter, afraid it might disappear.
***
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