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"Don't waste your eddies on new furniture. It's expensive, and honestly, it's not practical."
Jax was hunched over his terminal, scrolling through the Cordoba New Life Furniture catalog, when Sasha appeared behind him. She moved like a shadow, silent as a ghost in the shell. She leaned over his shoulder, her chin resting on her hand as she peered at the screen.
"People in our line of work? We don't live in our houses; we just crash in them," she whispered, her cat-ear headband brushing his temple. "Even I, a runner, don't spend more than six hours a day here. Why spend a fortune on a place you only see with your eyes half-closed?"
Jax's hand froze on the mouse. He looked at the price tag for a simple synthetic-oak wardrobe: 170,000 Eurodollars.
He blinked. He looked again. He hadn't misread the zeroes.
"Is this thing made of solid gold?" Jax muttered, his mind reeling.
He had spent five years living in a cramped basement under a neon-soaked strip club and thought he was doing alright. Now, looking at the cost of a "standard" lifestyle in Rancho Coronado, he felt a wave of vertigo. If he spent the money Susan had given him on a bed and a table, he'd be flat broke before he even bought a lamp.
Then he saw the logo at the bottom of the page.
"A subsidiary of Night Corp," Jax sighed, the realization hitting him. "So, they own the walls, the air, and the chairs you sit on. Total monopoly."
Sasha chuckled, pulling up a chair and sitting backward on it. "Back when it was the Night Corp Foundation, it was different. Millia Night actually tried to fulfill Richard Night's dream—basic welfare, a city for the people. But then came the Gang Wars of 2010. The foundation shattered, and what grew back in its place was the Corporation. Cold. Efficient. Profitable."
Jax listened, but most of the deep lore went over his head. He knew the game, and he knew the streets, but the nuances of 20th-century foundation history weren't his specialty.
"A story about a dragon slayer becoming the dragon?" Jax summarized.
"Exactly," Sasha snapped her fingers. "Dragon slayer to dragon. Now, Night Corp just has one product: the city itself. They don't sell guns like Militech or security like Arasaka. They just sell the right to exist inside their borders."
Jax was about to ask more when a sharp ding echoed in his head. His internal neural link flared with a notification: Visitor at the Door.
"You told Maine where you were?" Sasha asked, her eyes narrowing with a flash of annoyance. She had told the crew she was taking a personal day. If Maine caught them together "house hunting," she'd never hear the end of it.
"Not yet," Jax said, standing up.
He pressed the release. The heavy security door hissed open, but it wasn't a mountain of muscle like Maine standing there.
It was a kid.
He looked barely sixteen, with a shock of punkish hair and a delicate, almost nervous face. He was wearing a high-collared black uniform made of a fabric that looked entirely too expensive for this hallway. He was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and holding a ceramic plate in the other.
"Who are you?" Sasha poked her head out, her cat-smile firmly in place.
The boy jumped slightly, his eyes darting between the "natural" giant and the cute-but-lethal girl. He stammered, shifting his weight. "I... I'm your neighbor. From 604. Just next door."
"A neighbor, huh?" Sasha's eyes scanned his uniform. Arasaka Academy. Her internal processors hummed. Why was an Arasaka golden boy living in a dumpy skyscraper in Rancho Coronado? Was he a corporate spy? A plant? She began prepping a background hack, her head venting a tiny plume of steam.
"How's it going, David?"
A woman stepped into view, sliding an arm around the boy's shoulder. She wore a worn yellow jacket and a weary, kind expression. She looked at Jax and Sasha, her eyes lingering on Sasha's aesthetic for a second before she smiled warmly.
"Hello," she said. "I'm Gloria Martinez. And this is my son, David."
Jax felt his heart skip a beat. The name hit him like a physical blow. David Martinez.
"I saw you moving in this afternoon," Gloria continued, her voice apologetic. "I wanted to come by and say hello. I hope we're not interrupting anything important?"
"No, not at all," Jax said, his voice coming out a bit more formal than usual. He looked at the kid—the future "Legend of Night City"—who was currently just a restless teenager in an oversized school blazer, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"I'm Jax," he said, stepping forward. "And this is my... partner, Sasha."
Sasha immediately stepped up, her hostility vanishing into a mask of pure charm. "Sasha Yakovleva. I don't actually live here, so don't get the wrong idea!"
Gloria laughed softly. "Well, it's nice to meet you both. It's almost dinner time, and I made a little extra. Please, accept it. It's a neighborly tradition."
She nudged David. "Go on, don't be shy."
David stepped forward, thrusting the plate toward Jax. It held two bowls of seasoned beans and two steaming meat rolls—real food, or at least high-end synth-meat that smelled better than anything in a vending machine.
"Thank you," Jax said, taking the plate.
"You're welcome," David muttered, already turning to pull his mother away. Gloria gave them one last apologetic wave before their door—604—slid shut.
"Well, look at you, Jax," Sasha teased as they walked back inside. "Mr. Polite. Since when are you so friendly with strangers? Yesterday you were acting like a lone wolf, and today you're the friendly neighborhood watch."
Jax set the plate down on the desk. He picked up one of the meat rolls and offered it to Sasha. She took it, watching him curiously as she took a bite.
Jax didn't know how to explain it. How could he tell her that the boy next door was a walking tragedy? That in a few years, his name would be a drink in the Afterlife?
David Martinez: Vodka, a splash of cola, served in a shot glass. Lived fast, died hard.
"I just have a good feeling about them," Jax said quietly.
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