Leaned up against a wall, cig in hand, Brian stares up at a huge neon advertisement barking out into the city.
"SEVEN MINUTES OR A REFUND! THAT'S THE TRAUMA TEAM GURANTEE!"
He looks down at his lit cigarette then glances at his father's urn before taking another drag. He gently touches the bandage on his nose only to jolt in pain which aggravated him. Brian takes a deep breath before slowly letting it out and resting the back of his head on the wall. His mind quickly flashes back to the woman who pointed the gun at him in his backyard. He hears the sound of her clicking the safety off, he hears her taking in that deep gasp when he startled her... and he sees that look on her face... He just can't get that look on her face out of his head. It was almost as if he felt how dangerous she was... but in that moment, she was at her most vulnerable. This contrast stuck in his head playing on a loop. Arroyo and Rancho aren't often home to much corpo antics. Whoever she was... she was a long way from home.
"AYE CHOOM!" Graves yells out to Brian while walking towards him... snapping him out of his thought loop. "You ready? We got a little time, lets roll."
The pair walk up the street a bit before hopping into an all black Colby Butte and speeding off. Listening to some Night City Synthwave, the pair cruise the streets of NC.
Neon lights and Friday night firefights... the lifeblood of the city flows through the activities of it's inhabitants. Night citizens run the streets flatlining rivals, claiming territory and klepping desirables. Slamming drugs and slinging chrome with the mentality of those with no real intention to see tomorrow. Meanwhile the ascended elite meticulously tamper with the human genome generation after generation... constantly pushing the limits of weaving metal and meat. Unbothered by repercussions... the ramifications of this constantly escalating arms race even has the likes of them careening right toward the edge. Hopelessly obsessed with the power structures they've forged through corporate corruption and brutal disregard... This city is home to them all.
Graves lowers the music a bit.
"Listen man... i'd been meaning to ask.."
"You're always askin somethin."
" 'Hey, y'know i'm used to you bein' the one with the answers anyway. Steering the ship's never been my forte. Besides... how the fuck else would i learn huh? hahaha"
"Maybe try listenin' sometime." Brian responds dismissively.
"Hahaha! Maybe... but hey, listen... i'd been meanin' to ask for a while now. Y'know since uh... everytime I try to fold you back in to some of this stuff you walk away." Graves says while looking over at him. A brief pause takes over the interior of the Butte as Brian doesn't respond. Graves continues.
"I know you haven't... you know... been in the game for a while... I just... was wonderin... y'know, why? I mean-"
"You already know why."
"B... you know just as well as i do that there was nothin' you could do about that. Things just got outta hand overtime... She pushed too hard and was in way over her head... we all were... you need to let that shit go... you know she'd want you to."
Brian staring out the window of the Butte mutters to himself under his breath "...nothing i could do about that huh..."
The two share some somber silence together before Graves turns the music back up.
Later in the evening, as the sun begins to turn in for the night, so do the straight and narrows of NC. Clocking out after a double shift and making it home with all of your limbs was often a well earned victory in itself. Nevermind what tomorrow may have in store for you when you step back out that door into those wet, neon soaked streets. Brian sat in Graves' car just outside his apartment complex finishes a smoke before flicking it out of the window onto the trash littered pavement. Looking out into the street, there's endless activity going on with the locals at a steady pace regardless of the time of day. Street networking for that next gem of information, transactions being done, shouting matches taking place, music blasting, graffiti being hit up, drugs being slammed. He sits wondering where these people live and if they ever even sleep. With all this energy they expend... is the end result even really worth it? Is life just an arbitrary chase for the things you desire? Even if it means going right over the edge? What are they exactly doing with their lives...? To what end..? Do they even care...? The sound of the trucks side panel being opened snaps Brian out of his thoughts. It slams closed and the driver side door flys open, Graves hops in. "Alright. Let's go."
The pair begin to drive as the evening sunset concludes making it harder to see. However the darkness is short lived before giving way to the blooming neon lights of Night City. The notorious glowing allure that draws people in via some of the most profound and inexplainable sensations and experiences. For some, an opportunity to transform themselves before their very own eyes... for others... an inescapable cage of light fixated on revealing to you your true self before driving you to your knees.
"So is it time for you to finally tell me what were doin or am i supposed to just wing this one." Brian asks.
"Quick trade choom! You know how I rizzoll!"
"Y'know, you bein' a 6 foot 8 ex-animal with gorilla arms honestly makes me think you'd be workin huscle for some corpo gonk instead of still bein' out here in Santo doin' 'quick trades'."
"And you, bein' an equally 6 foot 6 tall ex- uhhmm..." Graves looks over at Brian whom looks back at him before looking forward again. "uhhhmm...yeah, I would be thinkin you would be out of Santo by now but it is what it is y'know? And besides, i klepped these arms remember? You were there, was a hell of a night!"
"Who are we doin' this 'quick trade' with?" Brian shifts subject. "Is it Abby again?"
"Abby? Ha... shes been out of the picture for a while now. Nah, this is a new contact i got in good with through Marcus. Shit... chooms buyin big!"
"Marcus...? Hes still around..? His contacts have always been shit... always one step from either a jail cell or some Maelstrom ganger's trunk."
"Its networking B! Marcus has an in on a distributor who linked me up with this guy we're headed tooo! Cmon, you know how all this shit works."
"I'm not a merc, Graves." Brian says in a monotone while looking out the window watching the vibrant, glowing city lights flicker by.
"RIIIIGHT! YOU'RE A SCOP DOG SALESMAN! REAL UPSTANDING NIGHT CITIZEN RIGHT B? Tch, gimme a break."
"What's he buyin?"
"You know... a little bit of this... little bit of that. Little bit of all of it really." Brian glances over at Graves with a familiar look... Graves returns the glance and does a double take before looking back at the road and clearing his throat. "Syn, lace... and glitter."
"WHAT!?"
"Mostly glitter."
"Where the fuck did you get Synthetic Coke? And Black Lace? Who the hell are we doin biz with?!"
"Choombatta... relax... no volume here... just a sample package to start a hopefully long and... fruitful business relationship."
"Did you bring iron?" Brian asks with angst
"Course i brought iron... You?"
Brian looks back out the window quickly analyzing and contemplating. "No..." He says regretfully
"Damn, still not carrying huh? In Arroyo? You're psycho choom."
"Gimme yours." Brian quickly grabs Graves' Lexington and checks the magazine and chamber.
"What the- Why..?"
"You've got those gorilla arms, you'll be fine... besides... easy scratch right?"