It didn't make sense. Someone as handsome as him should have been the protagonist, not a nobody stuck flipping flatbreads on a grimy street corner.
James stared blankly ahead, his thoughts drifting far away as existential doubt gnawed at him. Still, his hands never slowed. Muscle memory took over as he worked the griddle with practiced ease, spreading the synthetic starch batter and listening to it sizzle as it set. Within moments, the pale paste transformed into a perfectly cooked yellow flatbread, edges crisp, surface smooth.
He added several skewers of so-called "meat" into the center.
In truth, the meat was nothing of the sort—mass-farmed insects, mostly earthworms, crickets, and similar things ground down, processed, and chemically synthesized into something that merely resembled protein. If you ignored where it came from, it wasn't terrible. Cooked right, it even tasted decent.
Food additives did wonders these days. Enough flavor enhancers could trick any tongue.
"Boss, extra spicy Cheetos?" a customer asked.
"Pile it on."
James squeezed a thick stream of unnaturally bright spicy sauce over the skewers and wrapped everything together. It was called a flatbread, but aside from the name, it had nothing in common with anything from the old world. Adaptation was survival.
Just as James was taking payment and handing the food over to a Tyger Claws member, gunfire erupted nearby.
"You dare start trouble on my turf?! Brothers—grab your weapons!"
The Tyger Claws mini-boss stormed forward, dressed in a mix of modified traditional wear and neon tech. A tiger-mask covered his face, glowing tattoos crawling across his skin as he drew his katana and charged ahead with his men.
"…Tsk. He hasn't paid yet."
James muttered under his breath, then went right back to work, same as the other vendors around him. Gunshots, screams, blood—none of it mattered.
That was Night City.
You didn't expect the city to adjust to you. You adjusted to it.
Stay long enough and you'd realize Night City wasn't that bad—if you followed its rules. Walk with your head down during the day. Be home before dark. Pay protection fees on time. Never use chips from unknown sources. Never talk to strangers.
And always carry small change. If you got robbed, hand it over. Letting desperate people walk away empty-handed was how you got shot.
If someone called out to you on the street, never turn around.
Bang!
A stray bullet punched straight through James's griddle.
"…!"
His eye twitched. A fraction of a second closer and it would've been his head.
Damn you, Night City. I really want to nuke you someday.
With his equipment ruined, James shut down early. There was no point staying.
He lived near the Cherry Blossom Market subway station, northwest of the H8 Giant Tower. Japantown landmarks surrounded the area—stylized robots bowing at storefronts, neon signs flashing nonstop. It was a tourist district, relatively safe by Night City standards.
At night, it only grew brighter.
After passing a graffiti-covered building, James slipped into the side entrance of his apartment complex.
The smell hit first.
A choking mix of industrial chemicals, waste, and rotting food.
James barely reacted. What worried him more were the people—junkies slumped against walls, bodies twisted unnaturally, eyes unfocused. Walking corpses. Any one of them could snap without warning.
It had happened before.
That memory still haunted him.
Compared to that, people vomiting or wandering around in VR rigs were harmless—as long as you didn't get splashed.
Stepping over sleepers, James passed the access control and entered the building.
Inside was… slightly better.
His room was on the top floor. No elevator needed—and even if there was, he wouldn't use it. He'd tried once. The elevator was filled with filth and trash, nowhere to even stand.
"You're home early today."
A woman's voice drifted down from above.
James looked up.
She leaned over the railing, swirling a cold drink lazily in her hand. A sharp bob haircut framed her face, streaked with faint rainbow hues that glowed softly in the dim light.
Damn it. This ancestor again.
His luck was terrible today.
James gave a flat hum and kept walking.
Soon, they were level.
Without the railing blocking the view, her appearance hit full force—delicate features, red-tinted eye makeup, soft lipstick. A white cropped jacket over a black netted hacker bodysuit, white shorts, thigh-high socks, and boots.
Futuristic. Retro. Dangerous.
James knew her.
Not from this life—but from the last.
"You don't even say hello anymore?" she asked.
"…Good morning, Lucy."
James forced a smile.
Their first meeting had been a disaster.
Back when James was still studying at Arasaka Academy—before his father died, before his memories awakened—he'd been carrying months of allowance to buy a rare braindance from Clouds.
Lucy stole his chip on the train.
By the time he realized it, she was gone.
That night, James nearly cried under his blanket.
The second meeting was worse.
After dropping out, after moving into this very building, Lucy mistook him for trouble. She slammed him into the ground, locked a monowire around his neck, and nearly killed him.
Later, the misunderstanding cleared.
She hacked him to confirm it.
His entire browsing history was exposed.
He'd wanted to die.
Since then, James avoided her whenever possible. Lucy, for some reason, didn't avoid him at all.
"Still morning?" she said, stepping closer. Neon pupils fixed on him.
Before he could answer, his hand felt lighter.
His last flatbread was gone.
"Hey—"
"Hmm… good—wait. Why is this so spicy?!"
The Cheetos hit her full force.
"You did that on purpose!"
Lucy grabbed his collar, pulling him close.
James swallowed.
He couldn't beat her. He was mostly stock, with only basic implants and Kiroshi optics. Lucy was a hacker—modded enough that even gang leaders stayed away.
"You grabbed it yourself," James said calmly.
"…I'll forgive you this time."
She released him, then smiled.
"But you're helping me with something."
"…Say it first."
She pulled out a pistol and pressed it to his face.
"Maintenance. Barrel issue. You were an Arasaka scholarship tech student, right?"
James sighed.
"…Okay."
Money chimed into his account.
Three hundred eurodollars.
As Lucy walked away, James stared at the number.
Maybe… she wasn't so bad after all.
He returned to his apartment, locked the door, checked his alarms, and collapsed onto his bed.
Just before sleep took him—
His consciousness dropped into pure white.