What Little I Have Left

Clouds danced around me as they zip past the window. I heard that the planes back in the old days took multiple hours just to go across the continent. Back when the "United States of America" still existed. Now, everyone's just a criminal. Heh, I think I'm growing some self-awareness. Now I'm wondering how the hell a kid like me ended up like... well, me. It's not underheard of, kids going out there, shooting shit up for a quick buck. It's survival of the fittest nowadays unless you live up in Iceland or something. If that already hasn't sunk to the ocean floor. I'm a dumbass but I'm not blind.

I hear a beep overhead followed by an announcement.

"We'll be arriving at our destination shortly..."

So why did I leave it all behind? One less mouth to feed and that's the bottom line. Sebastian Ibarra already had lots on his plate, don't need to add any more.

So where am I heading? Atlanta. To "join" a corp to learn something or two. I'm sure to stick out like a sore thumb.

I click the button on the plane's window, darkening it in an instant and I see my own reflection.

Recently shaved light brown hair into a buzzcut, blue eyes that look like they're on the verge of permanently shutting close, and a split in my left brow. I look pretty damn good for a 7-year-old kid, though I am just a tiny bit skinny due to a lack of decent grub. Wish I could grow up sooner.

***

"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE! IF YOU DON'T WANNA GET SHOT, THEN I SUGGEST YOU MOVE YOUR SKIMPY ASSES!"

Every second there is another loud explosion piercing my ears. I could hear the guns on both sides of the field, launching a projectile of death at speeds invisible to the naked eye. I peek my head out of the ditch and fire my own bullets, hitting a poor gonk right between the eyes. An explosion to my left knocks me sideways, leaving me dazed.

"...Fuck..."

My commander shouts for me in the distance. Urging me to get up or else my "princess ass" won't get dinner.

I raise my arm up to get a good look at the Holo-watch on my wrist:

42 Confirmed Kills

94% Accuracy

Survival Time: 4:21 Minutes

"Four minutes?! Shit felt like hours!"

I hear a gentle plop to right. Turning over to see a grenade with my name on it.

"OH SHI---"

[RECRUIT 77 HAD DIED]

***

I wake up with a jolt, almost jumping out of my chair with deep, heavy breaths. I felt every shrapnel of the frag ripping into my skull and body. I can see the appeal of an intense BD for those adrenaline junkies. Holy shit that gets the blood pumping.

I unplug the cord of the BD Player and take off the visor, hanging it on a hook on the side of the chair. I hear the door open to my BD training unit.

"Well done, Recruit 77. You have scored the highest marks out of everyone in every unit. You have shown latent potential and have set a new record for Recruits in Militech history. 42 kills with 94% accuracy. You should proud of your achievements. You will receive your station and ranking in 24 hours. You are dismissed."

I give my superior a salute and hastily walk out of the Simulation Room.

Should be proud my ass. What's there to be proud of when your squad mates are all privileged corpo kids who got sent here as punishment? I'm not here by choice, but by necessity. I need this money, honestly.

I pause for a moment in the hallway. The empty black walls as the metal emulate the cold void. Little red lights spot the black canvas, with white fluorescent light glowing above.

When the hell did I become so attached to money?

***

(Flashback - 2 years ago: Night City)

"Listen Ibarra. I'll head out East, to Atlanta to find some Eddies to pay off my debt. If I have to join a corp like Militech, fine. So be it. If I find another job out there? Then I'll do that too. Whatever it takes, Padre."

"Why are going so far, Van? What do you have to prove?"

"To...To prove I'm no pushover. I don't wanna have to see another person die in front of me, Padre. Not you, not my siblings, no one I care for. The city'll take me first, that I'll make sure of."

"So it stems from your parents. I understand your plight, and I won't get in your way, Van. But, just know that things don't always have one solution."

"I know that Padre, but I know that this is the only option for me. I've got nothing else to lose other than what little I have left."

"Little, Van? What you have isn't little. You have a family, Van. You have siblings to take care of. You're not even a brother to them anymore, you're practically their father. You're the man of the house now Van. Más vale pájaro en mano que ciento volando. (A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.) Be careful of the risks, Van."

"I know the consequences, Padre. That's why I want you to take care of the twins for me. Keep them safe or I'll give you hell."

"Of course, Van. I consider you family, and I would never go against family."

I smirk at that.

"Thanks, Padre. Tell them the truth when they're older, yeah?"

I see Ibarra smile for the first time.

"Tell them yourself if you don't end up dead somewhere."

"Like they'll remember me..."

"Don't worry, they will. I can promise you that."

"So we have a deal then?"

"Of course, Van. You have my word. Por siempre hasta mi muerte (Forever until my death)."

I reach out to Ibarra for a handshake, and he places a firm one back.

"Pleasure doing biz with you, Padre."

"It's been a pleasure working with you, Van."

***

As I pass through the hallway, heading back towards the barracks, I'm greeted by familiar faces.

"Well, well, well. Look who we have here..."

I look up to see the biggest shit stain I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.

"What's it this time, Malik?"

A short, skinny, very pale man is being a dick. He's surrounded by his "privilege" a.k.a bodyguards.

Great, just what I needed today. Another corpo kid on his high horse.

Fuck, I wish I could just beat the shit out of him...