David took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and slammed straight into the door.
Inside was nothing but pitch black.
Through his green vision, David scanned the room quickly, and his heart sank.
The room was small, but the person he was looking for was gone.
Empty.
At the far end of the room, a device sat quietly, its red indicator light blinking on and off.
"Damn it... a simulated bio-signal. How the hell does the Maelstrom gang have tech this advanced..."
Before Lucy's voice in his mind could finish, a harsh wave of static roared through his head, like ten thousand bees buzzing in his skull.
A sharp pulse swept through the room, brushing across his face like a gust of wind.
The powerful interference instantly severed David's Neural Link with Lucy.
And the host maintaining the network—Lucy, far away in Santo Domingo—was knocked unconscious by the violent disconnection.
The fallout didn't stop there. On David's end, he collapsed straight onto the floor.
From the direction he had just come, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the darkness. The steps were messy, disordered, but clearly belonged to a large group.
"Damn it..."
The shock to his Neural Link sent spasms through David's body. Lying face-down, his lips trembled as dust stuck to them.
"Lucy... Lucy... are you okay..."
Even though his Neural Link had crashed, he still tried desperately to reach her.
It was pointless. His voice couldn't be transmitted. And even if the Link had been working and his words had gone through, an unconscious person couldn't reply.
Meanwhile, the footsteps outside were already drawing close.
"That kid's down..."
"Move! Once this job's done, we'll finally be somebody."
"A little punk like him, serving as our stepping stone—guess our lives won't have been a waste."
As they approached, David caught the strain in their voices. It was a tone he knew too well.
From the start, this mission had been a setup.
A swarm of figures poured into the room, crowding tightly around him.
Suddenly, light flared, forcing everyone to squint.
"Hahaha... look at this snot-nosed brat, thinking he can play gangster."
"No idea how this kid even got in here, but... he's in our hands now."
Voices closed in around David, followed by a rush of wind aimed straight at him.
The leader, grinning with contempt, spread his large hand and reached for the high collar of David's jacket.
To him, David was just a lamb to the slaughter.
He yanked him up and, without a word, slammed him onto the floor.
Thud—
The sound of David's back hitting the ground.
But what froze everyone's blood was the sound that followed immediately after.
Clink—
A sharp, metallic snap.
David was clutching a grenade. When the man flipped him over, the pin had been pulled loose.
In that instant, David vanished like a phantom.
Grabbing the man's arm, he vaulted up, springing onto the shoulders of others in the crowd as he sprinted toward the doorway.
His movement caused chaos. The force of yanking the man's arm and the push from his feet on several shoulders knocked people stumbling into each other.
By the time they regained their senses and tried to run, the grenade that had been on the ground was already spinning up into the air.
A faint glow began to spark from its casing.
The Deep Cut anti-personnel grenade wasn't built for armor or vehicles. It was made for flesh.
In the next moment, fine crystalline beams burst out, whirling like the lights of a disco ball.
But these beams weren't dazzling, and they sure as hell weren't harmless.
They spun wildly, sharp as steel wires, radiating out from the grenade and embedding deep into every body nearby.
In that room, barely a scream was heard before silence fell.
...
David sat slumped against the doorframe, gasping for breath.
His hands dangled limp at his sides, his legs twitching every so often. The brutal disconnection was still taking its toll.
Moments ago, he had forced himself to stand, dragging his numb legs to escape. But now, with that single breath of willpower gone, even lifting his arms felt impossible.
His head rested against the wall as he stared up at the doorknob within reach.
Clutching it with both hands, he hauled himself unsteadily to his feet.
The door stood half open. Miraculously, the light he'd brought hadn't been destroyed, illuminating the hellish scene inside.
Blood seeped across the floor, and David, weak as he was, could feel the sticky sensation beneath his shoes.
He needed to get out. If he was lucky, he could get out before reinforcements showed and save his skin.
Leaning against the wall, body bent forward, he staggered down the hall.
Or he could find somewhere to hide, just until he regained enough strength to move properly again.
As he thought this, his steps dragged along the floor, smearing away the faint crimson footprints.
Aside from the sound of his clothes brushing against the wall, the silence returned. Soon, even that faded away.
...
Rain wasn't common in Night City, but when it did fall, it didn't feel out of place.
Even in the steady downpour, few pedestrians carried umbrellas. The sight neatly divided them into two groups.
Those with umbrellas slowed their pace, moving more carefully than usual, afraid the wind-driven rain might soak their clothes.
Those without umbrellas rushed forward, eager to avoid being drenched to the bone.
But by the roadside, Arthur walked without an umbrella, and he didn't rush at all.
Raindrops thudded heavily against his hat, the sound merging into a continuous drumbeat.
It wasn't that he liked the rain—his coat wasn't waterproof—but if you'd lived through worse, small inconveniences like this barely registered.
He had weathered blizzards that came once in a century, and he had done it on snow-covered mountains.
Those times hadn't been pleasant, but in some ways, they'd been easier to bear than what came after.