Chapter 63 - Food

Beep. Beep.

The sound of a digital alarm filled the room.

Carl opened his eyes, only to find that—aside from waking himself up—Oliver's alarm had zero effect on either Oliver or Jack, who were still snoring like logs.

Unbelievable.

Yawning, Carl picked up his holo and checked for any messages from Blanka.

Nothing.

Not surprising.

Militech and Arasaka were still butting heads over who was responsible for sneaking an ACPA into Night City. Even if those pilots were itching for payback, they probably wouldn't get a chance to make a move anytime soon. Right now, Arasaka was just waiting for someone with a pilot's ID to show up so they could press Militech harder.

Guess I should find something to do.

Yesterday, Carl, Jack, and Oliver had talked about hitting up Padre for work, but looking at the two dead-asleep drunks, there was no need to rush.

They had barely slept for two whole days, staying by Carl's bedside at the hospital. Then, last night, they'd drank themselves into oblivion well past midnight.

They deserved a break—work-life balance and all.

As usual, Carl went through his morning routine, washed up, rinsed his mouth with purified water, then grabbed his Lexington and headed out to grab breakfast for Oliver and Jack.

Why a Lexington?

Because his Kenshin had been flung into the abyss during the ACPA fight. No idea where it ended up. He hadn't had time to buy a replacement, so now he was stuck using this spare Lexington, which he had originally kept as a souvenir.

Before grabbing breakfast, Carl took the elevator up to the floor where he first arrived in 2075 and walked to the spot where the original owner of this Lexington had died.

Every day that Carl stayed in the megabuilding, he made a point to stop by.

Not because he was hoping to find another free gun—but because of a debt he needed to repay.

The green-haired mohawk guy who had died here had given Carl his first stack of eddies and a gun to defend himself. Thanks to that, Carl had been able to meet Oliver later on.

In a way, his merc life started because of that guy's 'sponsorship.'

That was a debt he intended to pay back.

But today, just like every other time, he left empty-handed.

The green-haired guy had lived on the eighth floor, and Carl had already made sure to 'politely' ask every other resident about him.

Seeing the gun holstered at Carl's waist, they had been very happy to answer his questions.

According to them, the mohawk guy wasn't close with anyone. He had only moved in a week before Carl arrived and, as far as they knew, had no visitors.

To make sure he didn't miss any potential visitors who might have known the mohawk guy, Carl had already paid his rent for an entire year in advance.

Not expensive—just 12,000 eddies.

This ensured that anyone who showed up at the door and registered a visit would be logged, allowing Carl to check the records later.

But now, over a month had passed since Carl arrived in 2075, and with 2076 right around the corner, not a single person had come to visit.

Either the mohawk guy had no family or friends, or none of them even knew where he had lived. Carl had no way of knowing which it was. But for 12,000 eddies a year, he was willing to keep paying until he found a way to use Night City's database records to track down the green-haired mohawk guy's identity.

Speaking of records, when it came to keeping tabs on people in Night City, the only ones with solid data—besides the corps—were the NCPD.

Carl remembered he actually had a contact at the NCPD—an officer named Johnson, who he had met during that cyberpsycho incident.

But they'd only met once. Doubtful the guy would actually help if Carl just asked.

Would I need to take down a few more cyberpsychos just to build some rapport?

Cyberpsychos weren't exactly easy to find, though.

After checking the apartment's visitor logs and confirming no one had come by, Carl took the elevator down, grabbed food from his usual vendor, and headed back to Oliver's apartment.

Oliver's shipment of pork was supposed to arrive in a few days.

Finally, some real meat after all this time.

After waking up Oliver and Jack, he tossed them each a bottle of purified water to rinse their mouths while he started eating what had become his most frequently eaten meal since arriving in 2075—cold Chinese noodles.

And the moment he took a bite... his stomach churned with nausea.

The food tasted fine—but after eating it so often, he was getting sick of it.

Carl was particular about food, and his tolerance for eating the same thing repeatedly was reaching its breaking point.

As Oliver and Jack devoured their food without a care, Carl thought back to Hanako Arasaka during their last mission.

That corpo princess probably eats fresh fruit, veggies, and meat every damn day.

Fucking corpo dog.

"You got any plans for today?"

Jack, halfway through his tomato and meat sauce pasta, casually asked.

Then he paused, realizing something odd about today's breakfast.

"Carl, why are we having pasta? That vendor usually only makes Japanese food, doesn't he?"

"No idea when, but the guy changed. The new owner knows how to cook everything."

"Everything?"

"As in, whatever you ask for, he can make it."

"Next time, I want pizza."

"Sure."

Just thinking about pizza made Carl's stomach turn even more.

He didn't care about eating pizza for breakfast. That was fine.

What bothered him was what usually came on top of it.

By 2075, the most popular street pizza was called Extra-Spicy Italian Sausage Pizza.

Jack loved that stuff.

But everyone in Night City instinctively left out part of its name when they talked about it.

Because its full name was actually:

"Locust Extra-Spicy Italian Sausage Pizza."

Yeah. Locusts.

Carl had to admit, in his time, plenty of people had enjoyed eating locusts.

He wasn't even against trying them.

But treating them like normal meat and piling them onto pizza like some kind of pepperoni substitute?

That was too much for his traditional pizza-loving values.

It was just as blasphemous as putting pineapple on pizza.

...Except, in Night City, pineapple pizza wasn't just controversial—it was illegal.

By law.

Under the "Pizza Desecration Act", Section 1, Clause 5A, the possession or use of pineapples or pineapple-based products on pizza was considered a criminal offense with a bounty attached.

Finishing off the cold noodles he could barely stomach, Carl sat back and waited for Oliver and Jack to finish eating.

Bored, he opened Oliver's computer to check what had been happening in Night City while he was unconscious.

The moment the screen lit up, a massive ad popped up.

"ENROLLMENT NOW OPEN AT ARASAKA ACADEMY! WELCOME ALL ASPIRING STUDENTS WHO DREAM OF BECOMING THE NEXT-GEN ELITE!"

...The hell? It's almost New Year's. What kind of school starts enrollment now?

If Carl had the time to compare it with other schools' admission periods, he would've realized something immediately.

Corpo overachievers never rest.