chapter 115

Remember This

"Good morning, Gaius."

"Yo, good morning, David."

It was a coincidence that Gaius and David happened to meet at the school gate that morning.

"Seven-ten? Gaius, you're early today."

After getting to know Gaius, David had learned that he was usually someone who arrived at school just on time. Seeing him this early sparked some curiosity.

"I have plans tonight at the Ritz Bar in Kabuki Hall, Watson District. I got up early to prepare."

"The Ritz Bar? The one famous for its brain dance wreaths?"

David, an avid fan of brain dance technology, was instantly intrigued. The Ritz Bar was well-known for being a hub of cutting-edge brain dance experiences in Night City.

"That's the one."

"Gaius, are you heading there to customize some new brain dance programs for the academy? I thought no one had requested anything recently."

"No, it's personal business," Gaius replied, taking a bite of his buttered bread. After chewing and swallowing, he added, "But since you mentioned it, are you free tonight? Want to come along and check out the latest and greatest in brain dance editing? My treat."

"No need to treat me."

David glanced at his account balance, deliberating. "I've been saving to send money to my mom so she doesn't have to work so hard. After setting that aside and budgeting for a brain dance purchase, I still have some pocket money left. It should be enough for one trip."

"The stuff there can be pricey, but it's a premium experience."

"Pricey, huh..."

David hesitated but remained determined. "Still, I can't always let you cover for me. I'll handle it myself."

"Fair enough," Gaius said with a smile. "Just make sure you don't drink tonight."

"Don't drink? What do you mean?"

David would get his answer later that evening.

---

That night, in the lobby of the Ritz Bar, David stared wide-eyed at the drink menu in disbelief.

"Thirty euros for a basic cocktail?!"

"That's nothing, David," Jack chimed in. He was sipping a custom drink—ginger beer spiked with vodka, lime juice, and ice. "This? They charged me forty euros just for pouring vodka into ginger beer in front of me."

"Bars are bars, David. This isn't your neighborhood pub," Oliver added, nursing his Rusty Nail cocktail. "Even a recipe I copied cost me forty euros."

"Their specialty isn't the drinks," Karl interjected, scanning the room. He wasn't there for cocktails; he was waiting for a tattooed young man he had arranged to meet at ten.

To be precise, Karl had made the appointment with someone connected to a green-haired young man named Allen.

When Karl first arrived in 2075, he had scavenged euros and a Lexington pistol from Allen, who had died in front of him. At that moment, Karl vowed to repay the favor if Allen had any relatives. That promise led Karl to maintain Allen's old apartment, hoping to one day find someone connected to him.

With the help of Jason, a friend at NCPD, Karl had learned Allen's name and little else. Tonight was his best chance to learn more: a tattooed man, linked to Allen, had visited the apartment and agreed to meet at the Ritz Bar.

At nine-fifty, Karl spotted the tattooed man enter the bar.

"I'll be back in a bit," Karl told Jack, Oliver, and David before walking over to sit beside the man at the bar.

"Mind if we talk?" Karl started.

"Huh? Who are you?"

The tattooed man gave Karl a wary look. "If you're looking for... that kind of company, you're in the wrong place. Big Bird's more your speed."

Karl's eyelid twitched at the remark, almost tempted to retaliate. But he held back.

Patience: -1.

"I'm here about Allen."

The man froze for a moment before narrowing his eyes. "Allen? Why didn't he come himself?"

"He's dead."

"Dead?"

Surprise flashed across the man's face, but it quickly faded into indifference. "What a shame. I was going to give him some work this time."

"Did you know him well?"

"Know him well?" The man scoffed. "We grew up together, came to Night City together. Of course, I knew him."

"Your childhood friend died, and you seem so indifferent about it."

"What do you want me to do? Cry?" The man shrugged. "When we left our hometown, there were seven of us. Now it's just me. Life in Night City is brutal. We're all busy trying to survive. I've gotten used to this. Here, whether you die sooner or later doesn't matter."

Karl clenched his jaw but kept his composure. "I'm a mercenary. Name's K. I owe Allen a favor and want to repay it. Does he have any relatives?"

"Relatives?" The man looked at Karl for a long moment, gauging his sincerity.

Karl's expression was serious, devoid of deception.

"Yeah. I want to repay the favor."

The man sighed, standing up.

"Don't follow me." He waved Karl off. "I'll say this much: it's nice of you to care, but there's no need to repay anything. Just forget about it."

"Forget it? Why?"

"Simple." The man stopped, turning back with a bittersweet smile.

"Because we came to Night City after losing our families."

Karl blinked, stunned.

"This city eats people alive. Most of us here have no ties left. If Allen had any family, we wouldn't have come here in the first place." The man chuckled, though it carried no joy. "It's enough that someone remembers him. In this city, that's more than most can hope for."

He turned again, walking away.

Karl stood rooted to the spot, hand brushing against the pistol on his hip.

Remember.

That's all Karl could do.