Chapter One
Turn Me into Phantoms
It was nighttime, but the Night City sun was shining. The neon signs and massive holo-ads amplified the daylight-esque atmosphere. Light pollution had gotten out of control in recent decades. Regardless, it was still a nice night for a stroll around Japantown. She tilted her head back and stared up at the sky. It was impossible to see stars anymore. The smog kept the true sky hidden. Dropships, helicopters, transports—whatever else have you. The little lights that signaled other airships blinked and glimmered. They were the only star-like things above her.
Many kiosks and carts were packed into Cherry Blossom Market. Vendors were shouting and trying to draw people in. “Try the nightly special!” “Two for one on premium BDs!” “We accept New Yen currency!” The incessant noise of the crowd was nearly unbearable. She weaved through the swaying mass of people that occupied the aisles between stands. Christine: That's who she was searching for. Christine always had a cigarette and a light. All she could think about was how much she wanted to smoke. The night was beautiful and so was the market, but she had been to Cherry Blossom Market too many times to still have any sort of awe filled, touristy outlook. “Ay, Sora!”
Good, finally. Sora turned to her right and saw Christine’s stand surrounded by people. Sora could barely see Christine through the array of heads blocking her and Christine’s eyeline. She approached the stand, hoping for one of the patrons to leave and create an empty spot for herself. After some pushing and unwanted shoulder to shoulder contact with the person next to her, Sora was able to clearly see her acquaintance. “Busy night?” She cracked a knowing grin at Christine.
“Don’t even get me started.” Christine had pivoted and stepped forward to focus her attention on Sora. However, that was difficult considering the people seeking her services. Christine sighed and reached above to toggle the switch to the stand’s main lights and outer signs. “Okay, I’m going on break! Stand’s closed for now!” She loudly announced to the people surrounding her stand. Met with groans and a handful of murmurs, the customers dissipated for now.
Christine stepped out from behind her counter and gestured to invite Sora behind the counter. Sora followed and sat at a stool that was near Christine’s workstation. Various small mechanical parts were scattered about the table. A partially disassembled holo projector was present and underneath it was an accompanying blueprint. An ashtray was also sitting on the table. Sora glanced between Christine and the ashtray once or twice. Christine had pulled up her own stool, though hers was cushioned and had wheels, and was now looking at Sora with a grin. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.” Sora started.
Christine reached into her vest’s breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “You haven’t been around here for what—Six weeks now?” She ended her sentence by putting a cigarette between her lips. She gently held it there while she searched the rest of her pockets for a lighter. “Where is it…?” She muttered under her lips before giving a final sigh.
“Yeah…well I’ve been hanging around Charter Hill more.” Sora felt a little ashamed to admit that, knowing how Christine felt about Corpo districts. Christine had grabbed a blow torch that was sitting at the workstation to light her cigarette. Sora wet her lips and rested her hands in her lap, looking down at her intertwined fingers.
Christine took a drag, then exhaled the smoke while she began to speak. “What the hell are you doing around there?” Sora glanced up at her briefly. The situation felt awkward for Sora. It felt like being scolded. Christine and Sora were acquaintances first, but almost a mentor/student archetype second.
“Just taking some small gigs.” She tried to answer casually, nonchalantly. “Y’know…making ends meet.” Sora could feel her friend’s piercing gaze, even if she couldn’t see it.
It was true though. Normally, Sora wouldn’t hang around the Hills. It really was just for a few gigs: quick and easy cash. It started as simple jack-ins: data extraction from netrunner shops or Delamain stations. She assumed that rich corpos could afford to pay a little extra on their cab fare, and add to Sora’s charity fund of not being evicted. As she continued, she ran into people similar to her. Someone in particular, Mateo, Sora was beginning to get especially along with. They would holo chat several times a day and had started to work on gigs together.
My mouth is so dry. Sora swallowed in an attempt to sooth the dryness. “D’you think—” Her request was cut short by Christine.
“You really shouldn’t be hanging around there Sora. And you definitely shouldn’t be taking gigs there.” Christine huffed. “Who are you attacking; corpos?” She prompted Sora.
Sora was fully looking up at Christine as they spoke now. She didn’t bother answering Christine’s question because they both knew the answer. “I’m almost done. It was a temporary solution.” Sora desperately wanted the topic to change. “Bum a cigarette?” She asked timidly, with a slight, pleading smile. Christine pulled another out of her pocket and handed it to her. Sora held it with her lips and leaned forward while Christine raised the blow torch and lit Sora’s cigarette. “Thanks.” She ended quietly, then took a long, slow drag. It felt…right.
Christine’s arms were now crossed. “I don’t think ‘solution’ and ‘temporary’ describe one another.” She stated. Sora understood that the both of them knew Sora was downplaying her situation. Nevertheless, Christine and Sora talked for half an hour longer. Christine insisted that she stay longer, but Sora felt somewhat guilty for killing her business on a Saturday night. Before Sora left, she was gifted with, “a cigarette for the road”—which is how her friend had stated it. Sora went home to her megabuilding apartment, indulged in a long hot shower, then fell onto her bed where she planned to sleep. Although, maybe she would catch up on Watson Whore first.
Hit the Bottom
“Please, please don’t! I have money!” He pleaded incessantly, “I’ll pay you double- No! Triple the amount they’ve paid you to kill me.” The thought of that many eddies was shocking to her, almost convincing even. However, not all things are about money—though, in Night City most things were—some things were about your reputation. Triple the amount? It’s a lot of money, but not enough for her to abandon her reputation as an up and coming NC mercenary.
Her grip tightened on the handgun. The man took notice. “God, please no! I don’t deserve this. Let me explain, please! This can’t happen to me!” She resisted rolling her eyes. This was playing just like a movie. “My family— Please, you can’t do this, I have a family!”
“You mean your wife—who you cheated on, multiple times—and your poor kids. Do they know about your kids with joy-toys from Jig-Jig?” She stated. Her voice was bland and her demeanor was cold.
“Is this about that? Did my wife order you to kill me? Oh my god—” He began wailing and crying. “Please! That’s my past, it’s all mistakes!” His drool dripped onto the concrete as he hysterically cried. You cheated on her three weeks ago too, she commented mentally. Still, she could tell how frightened he was.
Not often does she feel sympathetic towards her victims. Sympathy makes it personal. However, she knew that if she were about to die she probably wouldn’t want her last thoughts to be about how much her family hated her. “This is so fucking nova..” She muttered under her breath. The man was panting and crying too loudly to even notice. “Your family isn’t paying me to kill you. I’m sure they…love you very much.” He looked up at her and his eyes shined with a certain hopefulness.
A hopefulness cut short, as she pulled the trigger. Bang. Blood poured from the wound. His face became covered in deep red flow as his body slumped backwards. It wouldn’t stop. The blood kept flooding out—now onto the concrete below his head. It seeped into the floor and left a permanent mark in its wake. You could wipe the surface—clean it, of course—but you would have to hammer the concrete into rubble to rid it of the fact that Stephen Abbott had died here. If that was even his name. She didn’t care at all; it wasn’t her business. She never made it her business.
Javiera tucked her Lexington into the waistband of her cargos: where it had lived before this unfortunate encounter. Unfortunate for Stephen of course. On the other side of the ordeal: Javiera was going to claim her payment and enjoy a nice night in her apartment with premium alcohol and local take-out. “I need a break from this shit.” She let out a sigh and stared at the body lying on the floor. Javiera didn’t know if she enjoyed this job or if she despised it. Today made her feel conflicted—as always after a gig like this. It was nice working on her own time and getting paid buckets. But was the mental turmoil, having to lie low constantly, or the risk of becoming a body of her own on the floor: did any of it…have worth? She didn’t know. A part of her didn’t want to know. Javiera figured she didn’t need to know.