Chapter 38 (Part 2)

January 15, 2069 — 13:32

Alex Mitchell (Volkov)

"Got everything?" I asked Sasha, taking the bag from her hands.

"Triple-checked. We're good." She waved me off, then immediately pressed her cheek to my arm.

"Leaving already? Not even a proper goodbye?" Galina leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like she'd been waiting for this exact moment.

"You're not working today?" I glanced at the elder Yakovleva, caught off guard — and just like that, any hope of a clean getaway vanished in a puff of smug maternal amusement.

"Took the day off," she said with a shrug. "Figured I earned it after the whole docks fiasco. That alone should've bought me a week."

"Enjoying some hard-earned laziness, huh?" There was a little more envy in my voice than I meant to let slip.

"That's a great phrase — gonna steal that." She winked, and like clockwork, Sasha's grip on my arm tightened. No mistaking that for anything but a silent warning.

"Do you two have to make this a performance?" Sasha grumbled.

"A girl's gotta find joy where she can," Galina replied, eyes rolling skyward in a dead-on impression of Sasha's usual brand of exasperation.

"Maybe try finding a boyfriend," Sasha muttered, tugging me gently toward the elevator.

"Oh? Now you're worried about my love life?" Galina wasn't letting her off the hook that easily.

"I just don't want to show up one day and find your apartment crawling with cats," Sasha shot back, pure sass in every syllable.

"Relax — I've got a wonderful son-in-law now. We'll get along just fine."

"Leave me out of this disaster." I grabbed Sasha by the collar and steered the increasingly grumpy brunette toward the elevator. "Sorry, we've got places to be."

Was it rude to cut the conversation short? Probably. But I knew the signs. I'd seen too many friendly chats at camp turn sour in seconds. Better to hit the brakes now before the snark hit critical mass.

"Take care — and for the record, I'm not ready for grandkids," Galina called out, closing the door behind her with theatrical finality.

We didn't hang around. Down the elevator, into the car, and we were rolling.

"You know," I said, glancing at Sasha's puffed-up cheeks, "you kinda look like an angry hamster right now."

"Someone's way too invested in my personal life!" she snapped, whipping her head away from me with flair.

"Isn't it kinda sweet, though? Knowing someone actually gives a damn?"

Her ears went red. She didn't answer right away.

"I don't mind people caring," she said eventually. "It's just… my mom doesn't know where the line is. And she doesn't stop once she's crossed it."

Judging by the heat in her voice, this wasn't the first time things had gone sideways.

"Thing is," I said, resting one hand on the wheel, "when you live with someone long enough, the time you spend together starts to lose its weight. Then you blink, and suddenly you're missing your mom like hell."

"That makes it sound like I don't plan on visiting her…"

"From the outside? Kinda does. But don't overthink it." I waved it off. "Wanna stop somewhere and grab food on the way? I'm way too lazy to cook tonight."

"There's a decent Chinese place a couple blocks from home. Maybe two hundred meters tops."

"Perfect. We'll order from there and head straight back. I'm starving."

"You eat like a black hole. How are you not fat yet?" Sasha gave me a mock-suspicious look.

"Pure Soviet bioengineering," I said, tapping my temple like I was revealing some ancient secret. "That and a workout every other week."

"And I'm living under the same roof. So what's stopping me from eating whatever the hell I want?"

"If you ever manage to get fat and ugly, I'll honestly be impressed. You'd have to work at it."

I rolled my eyes — then my neural HUD pinged.

Incoming Message – Bestia Amendiares

Word is you've got experience with... sensitive matters. I'll skip the formalities — this job needs someone with your skill set. It's serious, so I expect full professionalism. If you're interested, meet me tomorrow night at Afterlife. We'll go over the details there.

"You good?" Sasha tilted her head, catching the shift in my expression.

"Got a job offer. And not just from anyone — Her Majesty of the murky underground herself. Looks like another headache's about to drop in my lap."

"You want help?" she asked, dead serious.

"I appreciate it. Really. But I'll pass. Lately, these gigs feel more like cautionary tales than opportunities. Something tells me Bestia's not about to break that trend."

"Suit yourself." Sasha didn't press it. Instead, without warning, she dropped her head into my lap like she owned the place.

"And what's this sudden wave of affection?" I asked, squinting at her with a half-smile.

"Just enjoying a rare moment where it's actually just the two of us."

"Ah. I see." I leaned back slightly, the streetlights painting amber stripes across the windshield. "Well then... far be it from me to ruin it."

***

Back at the megatower, I walked into a now-familiar scene.

Vega — wearing that universal android look of "I truly don't give a damn" — was buried in whatever she was reading. Gloria and Kiwi were elbow-deep in surgery again. And the cherry on top? The trio of teen musicians — otherwise known as the building's entire under-20 female population — had completely commandeered one of the units I'd bought, turning it into their personal rehearsal space.

Naturally, they kept trying to rope me in. Apparently, their band desperately needed a male vocalist to "balance the sound." Unfortunately for them, I'd already found my life's calling — and it definitely wasn't music.

"You finally showed up." Lucy, short-haired and platinum-blonde, was nervously twirling the ends of her hair.

"Another fight?" I raised an eyebrow at her puffed-up cheeks.

"Someone can't keep a damn rhythm," she muttered, clearly throwing shade at her best — and only — friend.

"Oh, please! And someone's been so off-key, I can hear it through my drum kit!" That one came from Rebecca, yelling from somewhere down the hall.

"Sounds like a real productive session..." I muttered.

"This has been going on for an hour," Roxy chimed in, dropping her commentary like it was just another ambient sound effect.

"I've heard herbal sedatives help with focus. Might be worth a try," Vega added, finally turning toward the noise. Her tone, as always, rode that fine line between helpful and dry as hell — you never really knew with her.

"At this rate, I'm gonna need sedatives," I sighed, watching the girls flush a little from the indirect scolding. "Alright, everyone to your rooms. I'll be over in an hour. And for the love of Night City — no more arguments about who sucks more at music. Out of the three of you, only Roxy shows any real grit and drive to improve."

"Ouch. Rude," Rebecca pouted, giving me her best impression of wounded innocence.

"I didn't say you two weren't trying. I'm just saying Roxy grinds. Maybe take a page from her book instead of wandering the city looking for trouble."

A not-so-subtle jab at Lucy — who'd recently landed herself in the middle of a turf war between two gangs in Arroyo. Luckily, she'd had the good sense to bail the same way she went in. What comforts me now is that ever since, she's been a little more cautious — and way less eager to stick her nose where it doesn't belong.

"Are you seriously still bringing that up?" That sting in her voice — classic sign of a kid who knows they screwed up.

"As long as you keep giving me reasons to."

"Dad. Lucy. Enough." Roxy stepped in like a practiced mediator, sliding between us with the ease of someone who's played this role way too many times.

At least, that's probably how it looked from her side. But I know Lucy too well. My lectures bounce off her like rubber bullets off chrome. She might dwell on it for a few days, but by the fourth? She'll shrug it off and go right back to doing her thing.

It's not like she's out there causing real trouble. She's just wired for freedom. That's who she is. And there's no rewiring that. All I can do is try to limit the bumps and bruises she's bound to collect along the way.

"Lively place you've got here," Sasha finally spoke up, cutting straight to the point. "And cut the arguing already. The food's getting cold."

To drive it home, she gave the takeout bags in her hands a little shake — each one stuffed with steaming boxes of fried noodles.

"Delivery? Now that's what I'm talking about." Rebecca perked up the second she heard the magic word: food.

Self-esteem issues? Not even in her vocabulary. And I'm not just talking about her height — over the last few months, her frame had filled out in a way that was hard not to notice. Subtle, sure, but unmistakably there.

"Vega, you joining us?" I looked over at the silent android, still glued to her seat.

"Mmm…" Vega tapped her lips thoughtfully, glancing between the food and her screen.

"I suppose refueling wouldn't hurt."

Decision made, she rose with that ceremonial kind of grace only an android could pull off.

"You haven't eaten all day again, have you?" I sighed, already sweeping her up into my arms like it was second nature — because, honestly, it was.

Kiwi must've been so buried in her work, she didn't even think to check if her little sister had eaten. As for Vega? She still treated food like a theoretical construct. One meal a day was plenty — for her.

For me? Not even close.

So I kept tabs on her. Luckily, I wasn't flying solo anymore. With the three of us watching her now, slipping through the cracks was going to get a lot harder.

"Dad! They're gonna eat everything without you!" Lucy's voice rang out from the lounge.

"Freeze!" I shouted back. "Anyone who touches my portion — prepare to be tortured. Slowly. And with feeling."

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