Surprise Fix II
Six hours later, at 5:52 p.m.
["Simulation halted at 94.44% after 6 hours, 48 minutes, and 36 seconds,"] Jarvis announced, emotionless.
Sora stood up and removed the coolant pack from the back of his neck—warm and useless. He tossed it onto the sweat-soaked chair and cut the link with a single mental command. The mechadendrites retracted all at once, releasing a dry vibration, like a steel cable snapping under tension.
"Even if we're close… Norris's burial will start with or without me."
["Don't worry, sir. I can complete it myself, though it will take me about four more hours. Thanks to you, that's much better than the three days it would've taken me."]
"I'll be waiting for the results."
["I'll notify you and the ladies as soon as I have them."]
Sora stretched his still-stiff body. His thigh still hurt—not from structural damage (that had been repaired), but from the raw memory of having lost it from the inside out.
"Only if they're good," he muttered, grabbing the jacket from the back of the chair.
On the way to the elevator, Sora released nanobots onto his clothes, making the fibers vibrate at a frequency that shed sweat as if the fabric had become waterproof.
Then, the nanobots devoured every trace of biological residue that might cause odor.
When he stepped into the elevator, already waiting for him, with the doors open.
Sora cast one last glance at the virtual body still aging, cell by cell, on the screen.
-
15 Minutes Later
The sun was starting to set over Night City, painting the sky a dirty orange that clung to the hills south of Westbrook. Its light brushed the North Oak Columbarium with a deceptive warmth, masking the cold that always hung in that place.
Millions rested there. Not in coffins, not under headstones—just ash, packed into small, efficient niches barely a few centimeters wide.
The first wave of Scavengers—grave robbers hunting for cyberware—and the growing mountains of unclaimed bodies had forced traditional burials to be abandoned long ago... at least for the masses. Cremation had become the only viable option.
Musashi, Avaray, Morgan, Eran, and Powler stood atop the long staircase leading up to the Columbarium and its endless halls lined with niches, waiting for Norris's turn.
Their eyes were fixed on a group from 6th Street gathered near the exit, loitering between the parked vehicles. Saying goodbye to one of their own… in their own way.
Firing into the air, drunk, and completely ignoring the mourning families and others quietly coming and going.
The group's solemn silence was finally broken by Avaray. Dressed in an elegant suit tailored by the Lazarus house and his face hidden behind a mask, he turned to Musashi and asked, his disdain unmistakable:
"What's the Red Oni of Arasaka doing here? Didn't you realize you were too late to kill Norris?"
Officially declared dead four years ago, Avaray had accepted Morgan's offer and now worked as an instructor at the Lazarus Academy.
Used to Morgan's... abrasive personality, Musashi didn't take the bait. With an expression that matched the somber place they stood in, he replied:
"I came to pay respects to a soldier I fought more than once, someone I respect—and who served alongside my grandson on several ops... Besides, I left Arasaka a long time ago."
Turning to Avaray and matching his venomous tone, he added:
"Or should I call you the Militech dog?"
The tension could've been sliced with a mono-knife, until Eran Marlour—founder of Malorian Arms, living legend, and notorious sharp tongue—broke it with a long sigh and a venom-laced quip:
"You two better get along... judging by Morgan's condition, it won't be long before we're back here under similar circumstances."
Morgan stood pale and frail, propping up his wounded body with the help of a cane. Unlike Musashi, he couldn't help taking the bait.
"You son of a—!" he snapped, unable to finish as a sharp stab in his chest doubled him over—an echo of his recent heart surgery.
Powler reached into her short jacket—patched with Lazarus Science Division emblems and her own scribbled mods—and pulled out a small pill bottle.
"Here, you stubborn fossil. Remember what the doctor said? The word rest ring a bell?"
Morgan took them grudgingly and downed them like candy, all while locking eyes with Eran, who watched from the corner of his eye, seething with jealousy and bitterness.
Watching his daughter care for Morgan—that half-dead heap of junk—like he were her real father, while treating him like he was invisible.
"Thanks, sweetheart… You know, Powler," Morgan said, forcing a sugary smile, "you're like the daughter I never had…"
And to seal the provocation, he placed a paternal, cloyingly fake hand on her head.
It had the intended effect—Eran clenched his jaw, pupils twitching with restrained rage.
But before he could blow up, Powler—well aware of the old men's little game—slammed her boot down on Morgan's foot.
"AHH, fuck!" he yelped, snatching his hand away instantly.
Eran burst out laughing. Loud, out of place. "That's my girl!"
A few people at the columbarium turned and glared in annoyance.
"Shut it, old man," Powler said flatly. Firm. Dry as a gunshot.
It wiped the grin off Eran's face. He muttered a quiet, defeated, "Alright…"
The conversation was cut short by a soft beep, followed by the flat, automated voice of the columbarium PA system:
["Number 8472. Norris, Alan. Zone 3, West Tower. Ready for intake."]
No one said a word, but the announcement landed with all the warmth of a fast-food order being called out.
Morgan, frustrated by something he couldn't quite put into words, took it out on Musashi:
"And where the hell is your grandson? Norris really wanted him here."
Musashi growled, annoyed by the same fact. "No idea. I only found out he was back in the city from the... news. He said we'd meet here. But he's not."
Avaray chimed in with his usual cynical tone, even dragging their dead friend into his dark humor.
"When I saw the news, shooting into a crowd like a goddamn cyberpsycho, just like Norris—and I was like, 'Here we fucking go.'"
Eran nodded slowly, the resignation in his voice betraying someone who had seen too much of the same.
"I just sighed. Figured it was only a matter of time…"
The jabs at his grandson cracked Musashi's stoic mask. He had to hold himself back from snapping, fully aware of the eyes on him—waiting like vultures.
Powler, however, couldn't help but laugh—quietly, out of her father's sight.
Enjoying these old men's banter, and the way they only open their mouths to mess with each other, trying to get under each other's skin.
Then, out of nowhere, a silver vintage sports car slid into the street, drawing the attention of everyone around—especially the 6th Street gang. Their first mistake: not recognizing it.
The car came to a clean, silent stop.
From inside stepped a young man with ash-black hair, tied back in a messy, functional ponytail. Half his face was covered. He wore a leather jacket not unlike Powler's, though his was adorned with patches that gave him a much… more dangerous edge.
A group of five 6th Street members, half-drunk and fully armed, peeled off from the crowd. Laughing, sipping beer, waving their guns around like they were extensions of their overblown egos.
One stepped forward, grinning crookedly, tongue loose.
"Hey, choom… nice ride. You won't mind if we take it for a little spin, huh?"
The man responded in stunned disbelief. "You… are trying to rob... me?"
Like he couldn't quite process what was happening.
Thinking he was just another spoiled corpo brat—partly true—the 6th Street thug laughed.
"Hehehe... don't tell me this is your first time? Don't worry, we'll take good care of Daddy's car."
Despite being more perceptive than they seemed, what they got in return wasn't fear or empty threats—it was a foul-mouthed response they hadn't seen coming.
"A motherfucker asking me to break his own thieving hands, huh? No, not my first time... but I did think I'd gotten past the point where even idiots tried to rob me."
"The fuck did you just say, you son of a—?" His attempt to insult Hanako—and swing his titanium beer bottle—was cut short by a silver barrel that seemed to appear out of nowhere, leveled right at his forehead.
Eco, cat-sized and forgotten in the car, leapt effortlessly onto Sora's back and climbed to his rightful place on his shoulder.
Only then—when they recognized the silver Malorian 3516, the very same that took down Smasher, and Eco himself—did the 6th Street gang realize, far too late, who they were messing with.
Confirming their worst fears, Sora pulled down the high collar that had hidden his face, revealing a cold smile that never touched his eyes.
That one gesture froze them.
Even the other 6th Street members who had wandered over out of curiosity backed off immediately. One by one, they started drifting away, pretending they'd never even seen those idiots before.
Still aiming the gun, Sora spoke in a flat, pragmatic tone:
"Alright. I'm in a rush and already late. So here's the deal— either you break one of those grabby hands yourselves... the easy way—or I do it... the hard way."
The 6th Street thug in his sights raised his hands in surrender, trying to sound casual—but fear cracked through his voice:
"C-come on, choom, we were just jok—"
Without understanding or recognizing that he was in a hurry.
"The hard way..." Sora cut in, with a tone that left no room for a response, as he holstered his Malorian slowly, and with his free hand, gripped the thug's extended pinky and ring fingers with terrifying calm. "Means I break every bone in your hand. Starting with the fingers."
As soon as the last word left his mouth—snap—the two fingers bent sharply downward, now parallel to the ground. The sound was dry and real. Like snapping dry twigs. The guy let out a choked cry and collapsed to his knees.
Still gripping the hand, Sora stepped forward. The rings in his pupils flaring, scanning every micro-expression in the rest of the group.
"So... what's it gonna be? The easy..."
Before finishing, he twisted the remaining two fingers—index and middle—the other way.
This time the guy screamed for real. No filter. No bravado.
"—or the hard way, like your buddy?"
No one answered. But their bodies did.
Even though Sora had already holstered his weapon—and all of them were still armed, some even gripping their guns—not one of them even considered raising it.
One lowered his head. Another looked at his comrade lying on the ground and, seeing his hand offering long life and prosperity in a grotesque manner, swallowed hard. The youngest was the first: he knelt down and placed his hand on the pavement.
Then another. And another.
One by one, they began forcing their fingers. Some cried in silence. Others clenched their jaws, trying to get it over with as fast as possible.
Even the civilians coming and going froze at the sight.
Sora didn't even look at them. He walked past and started climbing the steps of the Columbarium, the unsettling crunch of breaking bones accompanying his ascent.
When he reached the group... Avaray was the first to break the silence, with a grin somewhere between mocking and genuinely impressed. Hidden beneath his mask, but not in the tone that colored his words.
"Damn, kid… that was cold!"
Raising an eyebrow, he replied. "Cold would've been killing them. I just made their ripperdocs a little richer."
Powler crossed his arms, sarcasm clear in both gesture and voice. "How generous of you."
He smirked, almost amused. "I'm sure they're thrilled I'm back,"
And glancing over her shoulder, he added warmly, "Good to see you again, Ojii."
"—SAN," Musashi corrected, before scolding him in a dry, firm tone. "You're late." No room for excuses.
But when Sora gave one, shrugging, "I was doing something important…"
"Alright." Musashi accepted it immediately, any trace of annoyance vanishing from his face before pulling him into a hug.
"That easy?" Morgan muttered, rubbing his face with a mix of reproach and disbelief at the change in Arasaka's once inflexible, iron-willed Red Oni.
"We all have our weak spots," Eran said, recognizing a kindred soul.
After everything his grandson had done—restoring his family, and before that, bringing a smile back to his wife—Musashi couldn't stay mad at him.
The PA system came back on, cutting through the moment with the same clinical neutrality as before:
["Number 8472. Norris, Alan. Cremation process initiated. Family members or designated contacts may collect the remains at Window 12. Final location: Row 39, Niche 8809."]
"Looks like it's our turn…" Morgan muttered, turning with quiet solemnity and walking slowly into the columbarium. The others followed shortly after, in silence.
-
A couple of hours later.
Sora smoked in silence, leaning against his Porsche 911. The cigarette hung loosely between his lips, trailing bitter smoke that stung his eyes.
"I shouldn't have blow out those mercs heads…" he muttered to himself, with a hint of regret.
It wasn't guilt. Just that post-action annoyance that kicks in when you know you screwed up something that might've been useful. After finding nothing at Norris' burial—no clues, no intel.
Just cold, automated protocols and bureaucracy hardwired to chase your eddies.
Scratching the back of his head in frustration, he added in his own defense, "Tch… their cyberware was crawling with malware. If they opened their mouths, they'd have been fried. Walking corpses anyway…"
Contrary to his exculpatory words, he let out a heavy sigh and, still leaning against the car, let his torso fall onto the hood.
The soft, clean sound of the suspension giving under his weight drew a faint smile to his lips, still holding the cigarette. He was satisfied with the work the mechanic had done redesigning the 911.
He closed his eyes, remembering his time away from the city—when he set up base in Okinawa and brought the Porsche with him.
Driving it became his little hobby.
An escape. An excuse to clear his head between missions. A way to not forget the dirty metropolis that raised him… until he became a legend in the city—and halfway across the world.
After facing off against Saburo Arasaka himself in such a... public way—attacking his satellite, breaking his son's arm on live broadcast, and blowing Smasher's head off in front of the cameras...
One night, aimlessly cruising the highways of Okinawa, Sora crossed paths with an unexpected group of underground racers who called themselves the Neon-Night Club. Inspired by the early 21st-century MidNight Club and their philosophy of freedom on the road.
Over time, he got closer to the group—especially to their brilliant mechanic, Han Nakai. To the point that Sora entrusted him with updating the bodywork of Johnny's Porsche 911.
Han, aware of the car's history, treated it with almost reverent respect.
He installed a wide-body kit, redesigned the bumper, and widened the fenders. He gave the 911's frame a fiercer, more dominant look—fit for its new driver.
The changes weren't meant to erase the Porsche's history, but to carry it into a new era. A tribute to both past and present.
And for Sora, the result wasn't just satisfying—it was perfect.
For the first time, it wasn't someone else's car. It was his.
Ignoring the glances from people passing by, still sprawled across the hood, Sora took another drag from his cigarette. Exhaling smoke, he clung to his contingency plan.
"Ahmm… so the only thing I can do until Norris's Sandevistan gets decrypted… is wait for the bait to work."
But the steady stream of students pouring out of Arasaka Academy—right across the street from where he'd parked—and the buzz that followed once they recognized him, annoyed Sora just enough to open his eyes and push himself off the hood with a sigh.
Scanning the faces as they exited, he muttered, "Speak of the bait…"
And not seeing David, he growled aloud, "Where the hell is he?"
A few seconds later, the answer walked right past him.
In the form of a teenage boy with a "familiar" face—flesh and blood, sky-blue hair, and an unmistakable fringe. So focused, rubbing a clearly swollen cheek from a hard hit, that he didn't even register Sora as he walked by.
He only did when Sora flicked his cigarette to the ground and, without warning, grabbed him by the collar of his uniform mid-stride.
The other students stood frozen, pale-faced, watching as the number one enemy of the very corporation they all hoped to work for… dragged one of their classmates back into the Academy.
The moment Sora stepped onto Arasaka property, the system scanned his face and reacted instantly.
Alarms blared. Wall panels, columns, and ceiling tiles slid open, revealing automated turrets that swiveled straight toward him.
Even Sora needed a few seconds to hack the system—Too heavily shielded by Pharalax for a quick breach.
Instead, before the guns could fire, he released a swarm of nanobots—completely invisible to the human eye. They distorted his silhouette to sensors and cameras alike, turning him into a blurred figure no targeting system could lock onto.
Just enough time to launch a counter-attack on Pharalax.
Meanwhile, the blue-haired teen struggled in his grip, confused and furious.
"Bastard, what the hell are you doing?! Do you even know who I am? I'm Katsuo Tanaka! Do you know who my father is?!"
"Oh, I know. And I couldn't care less."
Seeing that his most powerful card didn't even earn a blink, his ego—just as swollen as his cheek—took a hit.
It triggered a shout, the first insult his rattled mind could summon. "What did you say, you son of a—?!"
Or at least he tried.
Before being cut off by a sharp, sudden movement from the man gripping his collar—who snapped his head down in a eerie way, bringing his face level with his own to ask, in a low, broken, icy voice:
"The question isn't who you are… or who your father is. It's: who am I?"
Katsuo blinked for a few stunned seconds. And once he recognized him… all the air puffing up his ego vanished on the spot.
He went silent. Pale. Dragged across the floor without another word.
-
Inside the office of the director of Arasaka Academy.
A 16-year-old boy stared at the floor as if trying to burn a hole through it. His leg trembled uncontrollably as he caught fragments of the conversation between the director and Katsuo's father—the boy he had hit so hard it sent him crashing through a glass wall.
"Yes, he himself reported that his mother is hospitalized," said the director, addressing the projection of a middle-aged man—moderately chromed for his role as a Corpo—floating above his desk.
["...."] David could see Katsuo's father's hologram moving his lips, but he couldn't hear a word he was saying, leaving him trapped in a tense and uncertain silence.
"I see… Understood. As you wish. David will remain here until you arrive," the director concluded, casting a brief, calculating glance at David that made him shudder.
'Why does he want to see me in person? Yeah, I hit his son… but I was just defending myself,' David thought, anxiety creeping over him like static in his nerves.
Suddenly, the academy's alarms blared throughout the building. The director stood up and turned toward the hologram of the academy's AI—also responsible for teaching classes—that had just appeared in his office.
"What's happening?" he asked.
["Sir, we've—"] the AI tried to respond before its projection abruptly cut out. The alarms went silent at the same moment.
Katsuo's father, Mr. Tanaka, watched the glitching signal with narrowed eyes, quick to draw his own conclusions. He disabled the private mode and let his voice boom through the office.
["What's going on at the academy? Some kind of system failure?"]
The director, masking his growing unease at being unable to reach the AI, replied, "It would appear so."
Tanaka remained silent for a moment, his projection fixed on David as his thoughts began to align.
Arasaka—more specifically, Tanaka's division in Night City—had been monitoring the recent high-speed pursuit between Iron Beast and Militech. It had culminated in a bot assault that was still all over the news feeds.
Mr. Tanaka's surprise had been twofold when facial recognition software identified one of the participants in that chase… as a student at the academy.
And the next day, that same student struck his son using a Sandevistan Apogee—the exact model once used by the late Lieutenant Norris.
According to off-record intel sources, that Sandevistan was the reason behind the very public Iron Beast vs. Militech standoff.
Convinced that David's Sandevistan was the same one that once belonged to Norris—and seeing a chance to rise through Arasaka's ranks by claiming the prize both corps craved—Tanaka didn't hesitate.
["Ask him, Director,"] he ordered coldly.
The director gave an almost imperceptible nod. "David, do you know—or have you been in contact with—Sora Inazuka?"
Fully aware that someone tied to Arasaka—even a student—being linked to one of the corporation's public enemies was a serious issue, David let out a heavy sigh.
It wasn't like he cared about the obvious consequences—getting expelled, for starters. He chose to install the Sandevistan himself. Still, he didn't know what to say… so he went with short, almost defiant honesty.
"Yes."
Tanaka's suspicion seemed confirmed. The director couldn't help but notice the satisfaction flicker across the hologram's face.
Just as the director was about to sit back down, a deafening crash shook the room next door.
"Who is—? Wait! What are you doing dragging one of our students?" shouted the secretary, her voice leaping between shock and outrage as chaos announced its arrival.
The intruder ignored her and kept walking.
When she tried to stop him and got a good look at his sharp face, her expression changed instantly.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. Her voice cracked in a strangled gasp. "No… it can't be—!"
Sora didn't stop. He slammed the double doors open and, without effort, hurled a pale Katsuo into the center of the office—right in front of his father's hologram and the stunned director.
With calm indifference, he dropped into the seat beside David—the same chair Gloria had sat in days earlier, though the atmosphere now was… completely different.
Everyone in the room exchanged glances until the Director ordered his pale secretary,
"Ariadna, close the door and leave."
Once the room was shut, he turned to the one responsible for the… uncertain atmosphere, more concerned for his own safety than for his student's.
"What are you doing here? You're violating the treaty. You're not allowed access to our facilities."
Tanaka, safe behind a hologram, didn't change his tone. ["What have you done to my son?"]
"Glad we can skip the introductions," Sora replied. "I'm here for the same reason you are: David."
Tapping the armrest of the chair with one finger, he added, "Why are you here?"
"He assaulted another student," the Director answered, as if it were self-evident.
Sora turned his head toward David—his face visibly bruised—then looked back at the Director with a stare that questioned his neutrality.
"Then I did you a favor by bringing the other party. You're welcome."
Tanaka's expression twisted—caught somewhere between outrage and disbelief. His holographic image flared slightly, a brief distortion betraying his emotional spike.
["You expect me to thank you for humiliating my son?"]
"I don't expect anything. But I'll take it."
The edge in Sora's voice was deliberate, almost playful. Tanaka leaned forward in the projection, his jaw tightening.
["You bast—!"]
"Besides, I wasn't talking to you." Before Mr. Tanaka could finish, Sora turned to the person seated beside him. "Why are you here?"
"W-what do you mean?" David replied, confused and tense.
"I was waiting for you outside. What are you doing wasting your time in here?"
"Well… I hit Katsuo and they told me to come here…"
"You did the right thing hitting him. But why are you letting these two tell you what to do?" Sora asked, pointing a thumb at the bewildered Director and the hologram.
David blinked. "According to Rebecca, you wanted me to come back to the academy."
Locking eyes with Mr. Tanaka, whose jaw was clenched, Sora replied. "You already did the job. You don't need to come back to this place."
David didn't fully understand what he meant, but his eyes widened in realization… after thinking it through just long enough.
"Ugh… finally." He stood up, shrugged off his uniform jacket, and carelessly tossed it onto the chair. As he sank back down, the jacket slipped off and fell in a crumpled heap onto the floor.
The Director and Mr. Tanaka watched silently, both witnessing the symbolic resignation.
Sora nodded and said, "Well done. Now! Let's get out of here…"
Just as they were about to stand, Tanaka's voice cut through the room, cold and authoritative, instantly freezing David in place. ["Do you really think you can hit my son, wreck Arasaka's facilities, and walk out of here like it's nothing?"]
Sora cracked a sardonic smile. "Ahm… I'm trying to be as civil as possible. But you, old man! Looks like you want some action," he shot back, wagging his metal finger at the hologram.
He dismissed the idea of throwing him to 'Hanako-mama'—knowing that if he played that card, he'd scare Tanaka and his division too much to act in the future.
'What's life without a little excitement?' Sora's mind exclaimed, briefly flicking his gaze toward David without turning his head.
Despite the butterfly effect he had caused, he trusted he could fix things enough for David to mature fast under Arasaka's constant watch and chase.
Besides, by creating a small misunderstanding—making Arasaka believe that David had Norris's Sandevistan implant—sending him back to the academy for one more day to "show it off to his school friends"
Not only did this help David... in a way. It also kept Norris's case alive, hoping that the misunderstanding would eventually reach the ears of the real culprits and they would decide to bite... the bait.
And this time, he would be waiting for them.
"You think I don't know what you're trying?" Sora said, his voice taking on a mock-serious corporate tone. "You want to sneak in and grab the prize while Iron Beast and Militech are fighting."
Hearing Sora's "accusations," Tanaka smiled slightly, dropping the father act and returning to his true corporate self. ["Sending him back to the academy was a mistake..."]
"I expected that, given your academy's prestige, there wouldn't be students like your son," Sora replied with genuine contempt and disdain.
["Then you did well to leave your corporation in other hands..."] Tanaka replied with a calculated mix of mockery and arrogance. ["I raised my son according to Saburo-sama's teachings. I taught him that having no mercy for your rivals is one of the principles to rise in this world."]
Sora let out a dry laugh. "I agree the old man wrote the current playbook... So, since you like him so much, let me borrow a page. Nothing else matters but strength. If you want to protect your possessions or take those of others... have the strength to do it. So fuck off, unless you've got the balls to get your hands dirty."
Tanaka fell silent, the projection of his face tense and unreadable, unable to mask the fury simmering beneath.
"That last part isn't from the old man, but if you want, I'll let you use it... I can tell by your face that you've been it before." Sora said as he stood up, David following a beat behind.
As he left the office, Sora "said goodbye" without looking back. "Consider today's meeting as David's resignation."
Remembering something, he added, "Ah! And if they dare bill his mother for the month... I'll show up to do what I did to their HQ four years ago."
Looking one last time at the principal… and at Katsuo, who still hadn't dared to get up off the floor, David also said his goodbye—taking advantage of his new freedom, of never having to endure their belittling stares again.
"Thank you for your time and everything you've taught me."
Remembering the humiliations his mother had suffered in that very office, David's expression and tone took on a dangerous edge as he finished:
"I'll never forget."
—
The moment he stepped out of the academy, David exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for months.
"That was... fucking weird. And fucking awesome," he said, looking at the black-haired man who was already lighting another cigarette.
Sora didn't look at him. He spoke just before taking the first drag.
"Hope you don't regret it."
David raised an eyebrow. "Leaving that shit-hole?"
He glanced back at the academy he had always hated—and had only attended to please his mother.
Sora tilted his head, as if that wasn't exactly what he meant. Then he dropped one hand and tapped the hilt of Getsuda, protruding from behind his hip.
"I mean choosing this kind of life."
David got it instantly. The conversation from the night before at the bar with Sora's merc friends was still fresh… as was the young woman with twin ponytails and faintly blue skin who'd kept him company and walked him home.
Instinctively, he reached for the implant barely jutting out from the back of his neck—the tip of his new Sandevistan.
"A little late to think about that, huh?" he said, smirking.
Sora nodded, almost with pity. "True. Your mom's gonna kill you—either for dropping out of the academy… or for getting military-grade cyberware installed."
David snorted and replied in that breezy tone teenagers use to dodge responsibility. "Technically, you're the one responsible for both."
But the words caught in his throat when Sora slowly turned to look at him.
He didn't say a thing.
And that was enough for David to feel like that gaze was drilling through his skull.
Clearing his throat, and with a humbler tone, he backtracked—hoping to get out from under those eyes that looked at him like prey.
"Well… I've still got time to figure out how to break the news before she wakes up."
Sora took another drag, his pupils glowing through the smoke as he received a notification on his IDn. After reading it, he finally let David off the hook, turning his gaze and walking toward the car.
"Don't think so… I was planning to take you to your first training session, but…" He opened the door, paused for a beat, and added with a genuine smile:
"Your mom just woke up."
-
Meanwhile, in Medical Central...
Hiroyuki sat in one of the chairs where he had spent the night, next to Gloria's bed in her private room, covered by her premium Trauma Team subscription.
He kept opening and abruptly closing the book that Sora had given him. It turned out to be completely different from what he had imagined, and surprisingly... erotic.
Despite his reservations, Hiroyuki had little else to do, so he kept reopening the book, reading a few pages before slamming it shut in frustration at the next uncomfortable part. He would then reflect and regret his decision, only to end up bored and repeating the cycle a few minutes later.
However, when Hiroyuki tried to give it another chance, Gloria's movements on the bed made him stop.
Due to her extensive polytrauma—with multiple fractures in ribs, clavicle, and femur, and being intubated—she was trying to move clumsily. Hiroyuki quickly got up to stop her.
Gloria, seeing him, was surprised, but soon her anxiety took over. Confusing flashes of the accident, people helping, and moving her overwhelmed her mind.
She thought about David, fearing the worst.
Seeing Gloria trying to remove her intubation, Hiroyuki intervened. "Gloria, calm down, everything is okay. You and David are fine. He only has some minor injuries... you're the one who took the worst; you almost didn't make it."
Gloria's anxiety eased upon hearing that David was safe, but the shock of her close brush with death hit her hard.
As she seemed to calm down, Hiroyuki said softly, "It's okay," and activated the bed's AI. Two white robotic arms extended from the headrest, carefully removing the intubation tube from Gloria.
Before either of them could say anything more, a green holographic screen appeared from the bed, displaying a summary of Gloria's injuries.
---
Extensive Polytrauma:
Damage: Multiple fractures in ribs, clavicle, and femur, with partial lung collapse.
Treatment: Accelerated bone regenerators to repair and reinforce fractures, and an advanced respiratory implant to stabilize and enhance lung function.
Internal Bleeding and Blood Loss:
Damage: Severe internal bleeding, especially in the abdominal cavity, leading to a critical blood loss.
Treatment: Automated hemostatic system with nanobots to seal internal wounds and repair tissues, plus enriched synthetic plasma transfusion to restore blood volume and support recovery.
Cyberware Failures:
Damage: Severe damage to cybernetic implants (Kiroshi eye, EMP Threading, Neuroport), leading to significant malfunctions and control issues.
Treatment: Emergency recalibration with precision surgical drones to repair circuits and update software, plus self-repair coating on implants to prevent future failures.
---
Without giving her time to process her injuries, the screen was replaced by one that Gloria had dreaded since she woke up alive. Seeing the invoice froze her blood and soul.
---
TRAUMA TEAM INTERNATIONAL
Invoice No.: 2076-0013A12412
Date: 03/25/2076
Patient: Gloria Martínez
Service: Post-Accident Emergency Treatment
Treatment Details:
Accelerated Bone Regenerators — ₴25,000
Advanced Respiratory Implant — ₴30,000
Cybernetic Neuroreparador with Neurofeedback System — ₴80,000
Automated Hemostatic System Synthetic Plasma — ₴50,000
Recalibration and Repair of Existing Cyberware — ₴40,000
Subtotal: ₴225,000
Taxes (21%): ₴47,250
Total Due: ₴272,250
Covered by Black-Titanium Subscription: -₴272,250
Final Balance: ₴0.00
-
Though Gloria wanted to scream at the sight of the exorbitant amount and the final taxes... when she saw the final balance was 0 Eurodollars, she simply couldn't
Suddenly, she felt the top part of the stretcher being carefully raised, allowing her to see the man adjusting the holographic screen of the automated bed.
"T-thank you," Gloria said, her voice a bit hoarse and slightly embarrassed, thinking about the possible inconveniences she might have caused while unconscious.
Before she could say anything else, Hiroyuki offered her a glass of water from a nearby table. She took a sip to soothe her irritated throat, her mind still dazed by what had happened.
"What are you doing here?" Gloria asked, a mixture of confusion and concern in her voice. "The last time I saw you, you were in such a hurry that you didn't even say your—"
"Hiroyuki," he interrupted, correcting her with an almost anxious formality. "My name is Hiroyuki Hatake. I've regretted not telling you that four years ago."
"Nice to meet you, Hiroyuki," Gloria responded, offering her somewhat bruised hand and a smile that revealed an undertone of gratitude... and something more.
"The pleasure is mine, Gloria," Hiroyuki replied, returning the handshake with an unusual warmth for him.
"Now that we've introduced ourselves," Gloria continued, trying to keep her composure, "could you tell me what the hell happened? Where's David, and why are you here? Oh! And I almost forgot: You wouldn't happen to know why I have a subscription to a Trauma Team tier they don't even advertise, would you?"
"Well," Hiroyuki took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as he prepared to 'pass the buck,' just like his nephew used to do. "Do you remember Sora?"
-
Gloria sat up as best she could, though the simple movement drew a muffled groan from her. It felt like every rib was made of poorly glued glass. Her left arm barely responded. Her leg wanted nothing to do with movement. And yet, rage pushed her harder than any bone regenerator ever could.
With a furrowed brow and a voice thick with disbelief, she spat:
"So you're telling me that your shameless nephew—the pseudo-terrorist who got exiled from the city for turning it into his personal battleground against Arasaka—has taken my son under his wing?"
Hiroyuki gave a slight shrug, holding the pad in his hands like an improvised shield.
"Well… maybe you're being a little harsh with the adjectives, but yeah, something like that."
Gloria shot him a glare, her breathing quickening—not just from anger, but from the pressure building in her chest.
"Hiro—"
"Gloria, calm down," he cut in, raising his hands. "I promise you, David's fine. Sora wouldn't take him anywhere dangerous... Do you really think your kid's going to be chromed up in 24 hours or something? Even he's not that reckless."
Frustrated, Gloria stayed silent, snorting through her nose.
"Besides," Hiroyuki went on, trying to sound reasonable, "despite what the media says... I swear he's a good kid."
Gloria turned her head slightly, trying to hold herself back—until she couldn't help but snap at Hiroyuki's overly kind words.
"Good Kid?" she scoffed, with disbelief tinginging his voice before exclaiming, with more force than someone that hurt should have, "That 'good kid' ripped Yorinobu Arasaka's arm off in cold blood!"
Hiroyuki didn't answer right away. He knew that, even if Yorinobu had deserved it, trying to justify that scene in front of a terrified mother wasn't going to earn him any points.
"He can be… a little reckless, yes," he admitted carefully. "But he also has an altruistic side. He's the one who's been paying for your Trauma Team subscription. And he personally sent me to make sure you and David were safe, four years ago."
Gloria fell silent. Not for lack of words, but because her mind couldn't process everything at once. The physical pain tangled with a thick, exhausting emotional confusion.
"Why…?" she asked in a near whisper, incredulous.
"I don't know," Hiroyuki replied honestly. "But he also asked me to give you this."
He stepped forward and handed her the powered-on pad.
Gloria took it with her less-bandaged hand. The interface lit up smoothly, revealing a well-written document. At first, her gaze scanned it mechanically, without fully grasping what she was reading. But as her eyes landed on the key lines, confusion gave way to astonishment.
[Iron Beast Corporation Contract]
[Position: Sales Manager]
[Benefits: company car, full Trauma Team coverage, accrued vacation time, flexible hours.]
For a moment, she thought Hiroyuki had handed her the wrong document.
Until she saw her name: Gloria Martínez. Already typed in. Ready to sign.
Then she saw the salary, and the air caught in her lungs—escaping in the form of a nervous hiccup.
Just three paychecks could wipe out all her debt. Cover years of overdue rent. Upgrade David's academy equipment...
After a moment of silence, Hiroyuki added, "You don't have to sign it now. Take all the time you need… but for your own safety—after what happened with Norris and his Sandevistan—you can't go back to EMT."
Gloria stared at him, eyes wide. There was something between fear and shame in her face, and it colored her voice as she cried out in panic:
"W-What are you saying?"
Hiroyuki realized he'd gone too far, too fast. He scratched the back of his neck and looked away, finally answering awkwardly:
"Nothing…"
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Only the constant hum of the medical systems filled the room.
Trying to ease the tension, Hiroyuki reached out and flicked on the holographic TV with a gesture. The image came to life instantly, floating mid-air in sharp, vivid detail.
"Why don't we check the news for a bit?" he offered, forcing a smile that died the moment it appeared.
He immediately regretted it as the headline scrolled across the screen:
[URBAN CHASE: A new corporate war between IRON BEAST VS MILITECH?]
A special report was recapping the events of the previous night, complete with footage of a familiar and atractive half-dressed man—ripping the head clean off a brutality-class combat drone while staring directly into the camera, like it was a personal challenge to whoever was behind the attack.
Next came shaky, unfocused clips from the high-speed chase. A vintage silver sports car swerved violently through a barricaded avenue, pursued by a dozen armored Militech vehicles.
In the passenger seat, a young man in a yellow jacket clung to the doorframe for dear life, struggling to stay inside the car.
The footage was grainy, low-res. But for Gloria… no extra clarity was needed.
A mother doesn't need high definition to recognize her child.
She didn't scream. She didn't break down. She simply turned her head slowly toward Hiroyuki and shot him a glare that could burn through steel.
She didn't have to say a word. But Hiroyuki heard his own words, echoing in his mind like knives:
"Despite what the media says…"
"He's a good guy…"
"He wouldn't take him anywhere dangerous…"
"Not even he is that reckless…"
Too late—and visibly stiff—Hiroyuki raised his hand and turned off the TV.
The hologram vanished with a soft beep, like nothing had happened.
But Gloria's burning, unblinking stare… remained.
-
A few minutes later… Sora and David stepped into the room.
Hiroyuki, still filled with resentment toward Sora, gave him a look that screamed Run!
Gloria wanted to yell at them—but… something about David made her stop.
With concern that clearly crept into her voice, she asked, "David… why are you wearing a scarf?"
David let out a nervous laugh, standing in the doorway, not daring to come any closer. "Haha… Weather's awful, Mom. Don't wanna catch a cold."
As he said this, Sora leaned in behind him and whispered barely loud enough to hear, "Told you the scarf would just draw more attention… idiot."
Still forcing a smile, David whispered back, "What else was I supposed to do? You think she wouldn't notice with just one look?"
"You just had to face her, smile, and that's it," Sora replied.
David gave a slight nod, eyes still locked on his mother. "She'd notice instantly… she's not dumb."
Sora scoffed, muttering with dry sarcasm, "Oh yeah… this is so much better."
Gloria, catching bits of the hushed exchange and feeling even more uneasy, asked with a trembling voice, "Da-David… what are you two talking about? You didn't do anything drastic… did you?"
"..."
Seeing David hesitate, Sora whispered again, "Maybe start with the academy thing."
David tensed and muttered back, "The one you made me leave? Are you kidding me?"
Sora smirked. "Oh right, I also punched Katsuto—or whatever his name was."
Watching them bicker like children, Gloria couldn't get up… but she could yell.
"DAVID MARTÍNEZ!"
The force in her voice cut through the room like a blade.
No longer daring to keep whispering under her gaze, Sora hacked into David's IDn just to mess with him one more time.
[You're screwed.]
Before he could answer, Sora cut the call. With a knowing look, he got Hiroyuki to stand up slowly.
Then, just as his uncle reached the exit, he shoved the weakest member forward as bait, and he and Hiroyuki walked out as fast as they could, slamming the door shut behind them.
Once outside.
Leaning against the door, Hiroyuki exhaled with relief, like a man who'd just escaped a wild beast.
"Looks like you had quite a night," he said, bitterness barely concealed in his voice.
"Oh, it was fantastic," Sora replied with his usual sarcasm. Then he added, "Morgan nearly died."
Surprised, Hiroyuki asked, "The droids?"
When Sora nodded, Hiroyuki's tone grew concerned. "Were they that dangerous?"
Without answering right away, Sora just nodded again. He reached into his jacket and pulled out three small black coins, tossing them casually toward the walls and ceiling of the hallway.
As soon as they made contact, they stuck to the surfaces. A second later, the lights in that section shut off, plunging the corridor into deliberate darkness and silence.
Hiroyuki grew uneasy at how serious Sora had become—serious enough to take countermeasures to prevent anyone from eavesdropping. He was masking not just air vibrations, but also those transmitted through solid surfaces.
Only when he was completely sure there were no digital ears—no cameras, no microphones, no trace of remote monitoring—did Sora finally speak.
"They broke through Morgan's cybersecurity in an instant." He said, with a snap of his fingers.
Hiroyuki looked at him like he hadn't heard right—but he had.
Knowing full well the level of Morgan's cybersecurity—literally the best there was—Hiroyuki's jaw clenched. His brain, trained as a Netwatch Agent, instinctively searched for a rational explanation. But none fit quite as well as the first thought that had hit him—one he was subconsciously trying to deny.
"That's impossible... unless—" His throat dried up before he could finish.
"They're from the other side," Sora said flatly, already convinced of the fact after devouring the progeny of his siblings.
A stunned silence followed— until a shout exploded from the room they'd just left:
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, YOU DID WHAT?!"
-
Gloria watched in horror as her son turned around and took off his yellow EMT jacket. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the metallic gleam at the top of his spine—a Sandevistan, embedded deep into his back.
In just 24 hours out of her sight, David hadn't only dropped out of the academy—he'd also gotten his first piece of cyberware.
And not just any cyberware…
'The very one that I stole!' Gloria screamed internally in panic.
Before losing consciousness again, fear pushed a question out of her mouth: "D-D-David… you didn't install the Sandevistan from my jacket, did you?"
"No." David's quick answer calmed her, brought a flicker of comfort… until he shrugged and added; "At least, I don't think so."
He still didn't fully believe Sora's explanation.
From what he'd gathered during the argument with Katsuo's father, he was now carrying the Sandevistan that had belonged to ex-Lieutenant—and known cyberpsycho—Norris. The same one Iron Beast and Militech were fighting over.
But when he'd asked about it on the way to the Medical Center, Sora told him it was just a replica—one designed to look like Norris's.
'But if that's true... why would he do that? Isn't it a problem if they look the same? Someone could mistake them,' David thought, feeling lost and unsure of Sora's intentions.
Shaken by anguish and disbelief, Gloria's voice escaped her lips—broken and strained.
"David… you left the academy. You implanted military-grade cyberware... Are you really going to become a mercenary?"
Her hands trembled as they gripped the bedsheets, her knuckles white from the tension.
"Are you going to go out there… taking lives? I didn't raise you for that!"
David, standing at the edge of the hospital room, didn't show anger or defiance—only an eerie calm. After a pause, he finally spoke, with quiet honesty:
"That's what scares me the most…"
Gloria blinked, a flicker of hope breaking through the storm in her mind. She struggled to sit up, bracing herself on one elbow as the heart monitor let out a soft warning beep at the shift in posture.
"Th-then... it's not too late. If I call the academy—if I explain this was all a terrible misunderstanding—they might still—"
"I'm not going back." David's voice didn't rise. He simply interrupted her fevered hope with a quiet finality.
He walked slowly to the foot of the bed, avoiding eye contact for a moment… until he came to a stop.
"I don't want to be a killer. But I'm done bowing my head. I'm done swallowing shit just because someone's parents are rich, or have connections… or because someone thinks I'm worth less."
Then he took one more step forward, closing the space between them.
Their eyes met.
"I'm sorry, Ma… but I can't follow the path you planned for me."
His voice lowered just a bit—but didn't lose its resolve.
"And when the day comes, and I do have to take a life… at least you raised me well enough to make sure it's someone who deserves it."
Gloria didn't respond. Her mouth hung slightly open. Her son's calmness in the face of such a cruel and final decision left her stunned. 'Is he really willing to kill?'
"Mom, a few minutes ago, I didn't even know how to explain any of my choices to you. I was sure you'd think they were all dumb, or that you just wouldn't accept them... but after Sora stopped joking around, he said something that made it all click for me."
"You know... I meant what I said in the office—about strength being necessary. Especially now, and even more so in what's coming."
"Get strong, David... strong enough that you'll never have to regret not being fast enough to save someone you care about."
Remembering Sora's words, David added with renewed resolve: "I don't want to kill anyone. But… I don't want to be a victim either."
Thinking back to Misty's second tarot reading, he continued:
"Maybe not today… maybe in a year, two, or five. But Mom, I think things are going to get dangerous. Did you see the attack on Iron Beast? Sora says those drones were way more dangerous than what the news is reporting."
He scratched his head, like he was struggling to put his feelings into words. Then he looked her straight in the eyes and said:
"Ever since I was a kid, all I wanted was to make you proud. But after the accident… that changed. Now, the most important thing to me is that you're okay. No matter what."
Gloria stared at her son, struggling to recognize him. There was a sharp divide between the child she remembered and the man now standing before her.
David had never been the type to take care of others—he was always the one being cared for. Maybe that's why he had enjoyed Hiroyuki's attention so much; he'd made her feel like she mattered.
But her son… he was one of those who gave everything in silence for the ones they loved. He'd carried the weight of her dreams, endured an academy he hated—all just to make her happy.
And yet, now—right in front of her—David was showing something different…
"I'm not okay with it, and I'm never going to let you become a mercenary... but I'll respect your decision about 'not wanting to be a victim'... just don't think I'm going to let you get into any fights! Not, at least, until you've trained and know how to defend yourself."
"Yeah, he said the same thing," David replied with a faint smile, grateful to his mother.
"Then... please, give me time to think about it. It's a lot to process," she said, with a mix of exhaustion and worry in her voice. "And when you go out, tell him to come in. I have many, many questions."
David walked over to his mother, who was still staring at the wall, clearly upset. He kissed her gently on the forehead and said softly, "I'm glad you're okay."
As soon as he left the room, David's gentle expression shifted to one like he had just stepped in dog crap as he turned to Sora.
"Your turn. She wants to talk to you... I hope she make you suffer."
"She has no power over me! She's not my mother, and I refuse to go in!" he shouted, crossing his arms with the stubbornness of a child.
With the same knowing look, David signaled Hiroyuki to open the door, and together they shoved Sora into the room and locked him inside.
Immediately, shouting and banging could be heard from the other side.
"She's coming closer! She grew a tail and acid's coming out of her mouth! Quick, open the door!" Sora screamed in apparent desperation.
Meanwhile, Gloria, lying in bed—clearly unable to move and with no tail or acid coming from her mouth—massaged her forehead, already exhausted.
Not a day went by without she hearing someone in the city talk about where they were when they saw the fearsome Okami of Night City rip Yorinobu's arm off or take down Adam Smasher live.
And yet, the jarring contrast between that feared legend and the young man acting like a fool in her room made her ask, exasperated:
"Are you having fun?"
Sora did a full 180°—both in attitude and posture—spreading his arms wide as if seeing her for the first time.
"Gloria! Long time no see! What's it been, seven... eight years? Time flies!"
She looked at him with dead, dull eyes—the exact same look his own mother gave him whenever she lost her patience.
Sora chuckled softly, recognizing the expression with a teasing kind of nostalgia. He walked over to the stool and flopped down next to the bed without a care.
"Sooo... what's up?" he said, with a slight nod of his head.
She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Has anyone ever told you how shameless you are?"
Sora looked at her, feigning surprise. "Huh? First time I hear that…"
She sighed, though her tone had lost some of its edge.
"So? What did you want to talk to me about?" Sora asked casually—then sharpened his gaze as he added, "If your plan is to get info out of me about Hiroyuki… forget it. I'm not betraying my uncle."
Then, after a moment of incredulous silence, he broke it himself. "Alright! I'll tell you everything you want about him! Just… don't let him go. You're his last chance to be happy!"
She watched him in silence, as a single word crossed her mind to describe him: chaotic.
And he knew it—judging by the smile on his face.
But to his surprise, all she said was, "Thank you."
He tilted his head slightly. "Hm? I was expecting yelling. Something like, 'How dare you do this to my son?!'"
She gave a bitter smile. "Believe me, I want to—and I will. But for now…" She paused, lifting her bandaged arms, covered in IV lines, with effort. Then let them fall back onto the bed with a dull thud. "...seems like I'm still alive thanks to you."
Sora shrugged, brushing it off. "No big deal. I just put up the Eddies."
She didn't push it. Instead, she asked the question that always came up when she thought about him:
"Why? Why are you helping David? Why did you give him that guitar? Why pay for a Trauma Team premium subscription? Why did you send your uncle to look after us four years ago… when you didn't even know us?"
Sora stared at her for a second, deliberating.
'What does she expect me to say? That I'm just returning the favor? That her story kept me going when I was at my lowest and helped me forget, even for a moment, the shitstorm that was my life?'
Instead… he simply said, "Because I can."
She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "There's gotta be more to it. People say a lot of things about you, but… philanthropist isn't one of them."
Sora let out a short sound—almost a laugh through his nose. "And what do you think the reason is?"
She sighed, tired, and said bluntly, "I don't know. Maybe you're some kind of eccentric rich kid who throws his Eddies at things no one else understands…"
He laughed again. Not mockingly, but with that twist in his voice that showed up whenever he dropped an uncomfortable truth.
"Well… you're not that far off. But I earned my Eddies myself." He paused, raising an eyebrow as he looked at her. "And if I'm being real with you… you should worry less about why I do what I do, and more about the mess you're in."
She looked at him, catching the shift in his tone. Like he had just taken off an invisible mask.
"What do you mean?" she asked, more serious now—like the air in the room had suddenly gotten heavier.
Sora didn't answer right away. Instead, he nodded toward the pad still lit up on her lap—the Iron Beast offer waiting for her signature.
"I don't know if Hiroyuki already told you… but even if you don't take that offer, you're going to have to leave EMT."
She frowned, trying to look calm.
"I... I don't understand what you're talking about."
But her voice trembled just enough to betray her.
Sora watched her in silence for a second, that sharp calm in his gaze tilting the moral weight of the conversation. Like he was the one judging her now.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Even David knows," he said, never raising his voice. "You really think he wouldn't put it together after finding a Sandevistan hidden in your jacket… right after you showed up at the scene where Lieutenant Norris went down?"
She felt something tighten and twist deep in her gut as Sora kept talking in that same casual tone, like he was commenting on the weather.
"Now that you're alive… you're a problem, ma'am."
Turning his gaze toward the window, he gave a subtle nod toward the corporate center towering imposingly in Night City's glowing skyline.
"Militech already knows you're the one who pulled it out of the corpse. And that… makes you a loose end. One that's especially easy to tie off if you keep working EMT."
Shifting his tone—like reading a cheap headline—Sora emphasized the point with a gesture of his black-gloved hand:
"Wounded patient lashes out during treatment, attacks brave emergency techs rushing to his aid. Just another casualty in this sick city."
Looking her dead in the eyes, Sora finished with a dry, ironic smile:
"You can imagine the rest, can't you?"
She looked down, swallowed hard, and—paler than she'd like to admit—grabbed the pad still resting on her legs.
"And… it wouldn't be that easy if I took your offer?" she asked quietly.
Sora raised an eyebrow, visibly annoyed by the tone she used.
"Hm? Is it a bad one? You know how many people would kill for an offer like that…"
"That's not what I meant!" she snapped, irritated—though her voice still wavered with uncertainty.
He tilted his head calmly, replying, "It wouldn't be that easy." He stood up and took a few steps toward the window. "At the very least, they'd think twice."
Staring at the city lights with a trace of calculated coldness, he explained:
"After the events that got me thrown out of the city… Iron Beast at least earned a certain reputation.
Even if I don't hold any formal position, everyone knows exactly how I'd react if someone dared to mess with my fiancées' company. Or their employees... Of course, there are still people reckless enough to try—like we saw last night.
But they won't live much longer either..." He finished with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Its faint reflection in the glass was enough to make Gloria shiver.
She looked at the pad in her hands. Held it with disgust, like she didn't deserve it.
"Would you really hire a thief?" she muttered, just above the background hum of the monitors.
Sora turned toward her. His casual tone returned as the city's neon lights spilled in behind him, washing him in blue and crimson.
"Depends on the thief," he said, a faint smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.
Then his eyes lit up. Not metaphorically—literally—as a new urgent message hit his IDn.
His posture shifted. The easy stance tightened. Even Gloria, who until now had seen him as controlled chaos, narrowed her eyes.
"Something wrong?" she asked, catching the sudden change.
Sora didn't answer immediately. He blinked, slightly thrown, like he was processing a line of code that didn't quite fit.
He reread the message from Jarvis projected onto his retina, and only then did he murmur:
"Yeah... it's just... I think I'm going to be a father."
-
A few minutes earlier, at the main entrance of the Iron Beast campus.
The armored convoy came to a silent stop. From the luxury vehicle at the center of the formation, a man and a woman stepped out, both dressed in matching custom-tailored suits—dark gray, elegant without being ostentatious.
Awaiting them was: the CEO's right hand.
But she wasn't alone.
Behind her stood ten Iron Beast guards, fully armored, armed—an elite tactical unit commanded directly by the four heads of security.
Natasha stepped forward, offering a formal smile.
"Welcome to Iron Beast," she said. "Please follow us. The bosses are waiting for you in the executive office."
The pair nodded politely. No unnecessary words were exchanged. They moved with calm, quiet confidence.
The elevator opened with a soft hydraulic hum, and the entire group exited in silence onto the highest level of the complex—the executive sector.
They walked down a wide corridor lined with panoramic windows revealing various sectors of the facility: drone assembly lines, kinetic testing zones, automated hangars, and servers cooled by nitrogen waterfalls.
An industrial ecosystem in full motion.
On both sides, glass-walled offices housed focused employees, real-time projected virtual assistants, and floating screens displaying schematics, blueprints, and evolving system models.
The building didn't just breathe efficiency—it lived and roared with it.
Amid this dynamic environment, the procession didn't go unnoticed.
More than twenty people in total: Natasha leading the way, followed by the two VIPs and their bodyguards, the four Iron Beast security heads, and the full ten-guard escort fanned out with silent coordination. Too much presence to ignore.
Aware of this, Natasha turned slightly and spoke in a diplomatic tone:
"Apologies for the escort. We don't usually surround our VIPs with so many people, but after last night's incident, we've chosen to strengthen our security protocols."
Still smiling, keeping her tone pleasant, she added with poise:
"Especially given the importance of your visit—we'd rather leave nothing to chance."
The man—tall, his voice polished and perfectly measured—nodded without the slightest sign of annoyance.
"I completely understand. A logical response, considering the unfortunate circumstances."
He paused briefly, then added with refined curiosity:
"There were no casualties mentioned in the news. Were there any?"
Natasha replied in the same calm, impersonal tone she reserved for press briefings.
"None among Iron Beast personnel."
The man nodded again. "I see," accepting the almost-answer without pressing further.
It was then that his wife—subtle in her movements, but with a presence that filled the space effortlessly—addressed the youngest of the group, wearing a big black tactical coat of Iron Beast's security chiefs
"I saw you in the footage last night," she said with a warm smile, free of condescension. "And I must congratulate dear. The clip of your coat flaring as you fired the grenade launcher... it's been the most viewed video in Cybertube in the last eight hours."
Rebecca, who under other circumstances might have cracked a joke or let out a nervous laugh, simply nodded. Surprisingly professional. Almost solemn.
Still, a faint blush crept across her face as she replied, betraying her composure:
"I was just doing my job."
The group continued walking until they reached a set of double doors, guarded by two striking figures. One was a man in a black, unforgiving suit, wearing a full-face mask shaped like a wolf. The other... a humanoid droid clad in samurai armor.
As their eyes—or lenses—locked onto the approaching group, particularly the armed strangers, the VIPs' bodyguards couldn't help but reach for their weapons and pre-activate their combat cyberware.
A wave of goosebumps swept over them as they briefly imagined being sliced apart by the katanas those two "individuals" carried—and casually caressed.
As the group passed them, Natasha and Dorio shot them a sharp, brief glance without breaking stride. Maine and Pilar didn't even try to hide their smug grins, enjoying the tension rolling off the so-called professionals.
Unfazed, Natasha turned to the VIPs, gestured gracefully toward the still-closed doors, and said:
"Please, go ahead. The Bosses are expecting you. But your security team will need to remain outside."
The man and the woman exchanged a quick glance. Then, without a word, they signaled to their guards and stepped through.
The doors opened silently and closed behind them with an almost imperceptible click.
The executive office was spacious, lit by natural light filtered through smart glass. At first glance, it was all sleek lines and integrated tech—but personal touches broke through the corporate sheen.
On the walls and shelves, it looked like the exhibits of a private museum.
Seemingly mundane objects were preserved behind tempered glass with quiet elegance: the thousands of fragments of an Air board, a rusted fire truck steering wheel, and a simple, empty nitrogen canister.
Standing behind a desk of aged oak, waiting to receive them, were Judy Álvarez and Lucy Kushinada.
Both dressed in elegant, expensive corporate suits.
Both silent.
Both staring directly at the newcomers.
"Mr. Peralez," Judy greeted. "Mrs. Peralez," Lucy added, with the same neutral tone.
Jefferson nodded in acknowledgment.
"Thank you for seeing us."