Chapter 15 – If Lucy Doesn't Appear… What Then?
The hum of the microwave heaters filled the Martinez apartment, a droning background noise that never seemed to stop. Neon from the street bled through the blinds, painting the peeling walls with streaks of sickly pink and green. The apartment was small, suffocating, and smelled faintly of overheated circuitry mixed with instant curry packets. It was the kind of place that reminded you that in Night City, survival was measured in square footage and electricity credits.
David sat at the narrow table with his mother, Gloria. Between them sat a dented metal tray with two portions of instant food—synthetic soy-meat drowning in curry paste, half-sticky rice that had more of a chemical tang than grain. It wasn't dinner. It wasn't even food. It was survival packaged by the corps, sold to the poor at ten times what it cost them to produce.
David shoveled at the food mechanically, his eyes half-focused on nothing. His brain replayed the events of the day—the new neighbors, Sasha's too-sharp smile, Roll's (Adrian's) quiet, unreadable presence. The whole thing stuck in his head like a glitching BD.
Gloria broke the silence first. She had that look—her "serious mom look"—the one that always made David feel like he was still six years old.
"David," she said, setting down her fork. "It's fine to be polite to the neighbors. But don't get too close to that woman. Sasha. Keep your distance."
David blinked, caught mid-bite. "What? You literally told me earlier to greet them, to make friends. Now suddenly it's 'don't talk to her'? Which one is it?"
Gloria sighed. Her hands trembled slightly as she rubbed her temples. She was exhausted—her veins glowed faint blue from the wear of her implants, her posture bent from too many years carrying burdens alone. "Don't think I don't notice things, mijo. You think I don't know you? I know what you've got hidden under your bed. That braindance rig? You thought I wouldn't find it?"
David's fork clattered against the tray. His face flushed. "You went into my room again?! You can't just—"
"Don't interrupt me," Gloria cut in sharply. She'd raised him alone, in this city that chewed up children for sport. Secrets didn't last long under her roof.
"She looks harmless, right? That jacket, the dyed hair, the way she smiles like she's just another kid." Gloria leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "But I've lived long enough to recognize the signs. The implants on her arms, the way she carries her weight, the pistol pack bulging on her hip. That woman isn't harmless. She's an edgerunner. And that life will eat you alive."
David froze. His stomach twisted, the food suddenly tasteless.
He wanted to argue. To tell her she was wrong. But she wasn't. That was the problem.
Gloria's voice dropped, softer now, almost breaking. "Listen to me, David. You're almost sixteen. I'm not stupid. You're curious, I get it. A teenager with too much time and not enough to lose. But curiosity kills faster than bullets in this city. Looking at BDs is one thing. Touching that world…" Her voice caught in her throat. "Touching it will destroy you."
David clenched his fists on the table. His heart raced with words he wanted to spit back—about the corpo school where he didn't belong, the constant bullying, the way every day reminded him he was poor, a nobody. He wanted to scream that the world she wanted him to "escape" into was just another kind of prison. But when he looked at her—eyes sunken, hands shaking, back bowed from endless shifts—his anger drained away.
She pushed her chair back and grabbed her bag. Her next shift started before 7 p.m. Like always. If she was lucky, she'd be home by sunrise. If not, maybe the next afternoon. That was her life: work until your body broke, then work some more.
As she passed, she ruffled David's hair, forcing a tired smile. "I know how they treat you at that school. I've been there too. But the corps are the only way forward. Land a real job, graduate, and you'll be free. That's survival. That's freedom."
David looked down, throat tight. He wanted to tell her that freedom in Night City was just another illusion, but the words wouldn't come.
Gloria kissed the top of his head. "Stay away from them, David. Please."
The door shut with a heavy metallic clang, leaving the apartment in silence.
David sat alone, staring at the dirty dishes for ten long minutes. Neon light flickered through the blinds, slicing across his face. His hands trembled, not with fear but with something sharper—restlessness.
Finally, he muttered, "…Forget it. I don't have a dream anyway."
He stacked the dishes, washed them in silence, then collapsed onto the couch. His eyelids grew heavy, but his brain wouldn't stop replaying Sasha's smile. The way she looked so casual, like she belonged to the chaos.
H4 Skyscraper – Room 603
On the other side of town, in a sterile apartment that hummed with fresh utilities, Sasha sprawled upside down across Adrian's sofa like she owned the place. Her head dangled off the edge, black hair spilling toward the floor.
Her neon-pink eyeshadow glittered in the light, her irises glowing faint orange as she jacked out of the Net. The last pulse of yellow code faded from her optics before she rolled upright, folding her legs beneath her like a cat curling up.
"Maine says tomorrow morning we've got a job." She leaned her chin in her hand, watching Adrian, who was finishing a boxed dinner with mechanical precision.
Adrian raised a brow. "You're supposed to be at your own place. Why are you here again?"
"Babysitting you," she teased, smirking. "You don't have a ride, remember? Pilar grabbed another gig. So you're stuck with me."
She shifted closer, her tone lowering. "It's an extraction. Sixth Street turf. We're pulling a guy out of their garage. Corp's paying 120K if he's alive. Fifty if he's dead."
Adrian froze mid-bite. "Wait. A corpse is still worth fifty grand?"
Sasha stared. "…Are you serious?"
Adrian shrugged. "Just asking."
"It's not him that's valuable," Sasha said, tapping her temple. "It's what's in his head. The data. That's what the corp wants, choom. His brain's worth more than his life."
Adrian set his fork down, eyes narrowing. Sixth Street wasn't some small-time gang. They were military vets turned enforcers, with discipline most gangs couldn't dream of. Going into their turf wasn't a job. It was suicide with a paycheck.
"And Maine's fine with this?" Adrian asked.
Sasha smirked bitterly. "When is Maine ever not fine with it?"
She shifted again, her playful tone fading. "There's another thing. He's bringing in a new hacker."
Adrian's eyes snapped to her. "Another netrunner?"
She nodded. "Says one isn't enough anymore. Someone's gotta cover while I'm deep in. Thinks what happened at Biotech was too close of a call."
Her voice was steady, but Adrian caught the flicker in her expression. She'd nearly fried her brain that night, and she knew it.
"Do you feel replaced?" he asked quietly.
Sasha's laugh was sharp, almost convincing. "Please. Let 'em try. No one runs the Net like me."
But her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Adrian leaned back, staring out the window. His thoughts churned. Kiwi and Lucy. In the story he remembered, they only joined after Sasha was gone. But Sasha was here. Alive. Sitting in his apartment.
If Sasha keeps living… does Lucy ever join Maine's crew?
And if not… what happens to David?
His system flickered across his HUD, a cold warning scrolling in sharp red text:
[Warning: Key narrative divergence detected.]
[Timeline instability increasing.]
[Consequences: Unknown.]
Adrian closed his eyes, the weight of it pressing down. For the first time since arriving here, he wondered if saving one life might erase another.
Sasha stood, stretching like a cat. "Enough doom talk. It's late. I should head home."
Adrian hesitated. Then: "Want me to walk you?"
She turned at the door, smirking. "What is this, worry for my safety… or just curious where I live?"
"Forget it, then."
"Who said I don't want company?" she shot back, tossing something across the room.
Adrian caught it on instinct. A smartkey, gleaming chrome, dangled from a lucky-cat charm.
"That's my bike," Sasha said, slipping her boots on. "If you're coming, you're driving."
Adrian stared at the key, then at her. She winked.
"Come on, choom. Don't just stand there."
The door slid open, flooding the room with neon glow. Adrian's fingers tightened around the lucky-cat charm as he followed her out, each step taking him deeper into a story that no longer belonged to the script he remembered.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a single question lingered like static:
If Lucy doesn't appear… what then?