Cyberpunk: The Magnet fruit

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"Hahaha! You're one interesting guy, kid!"

Jack burst into laughter at David's playful words, slapping his thigh in delight.

"With your good vibes, I hope that one day I, Jack Wells, will become a real big shot in Night City!"

He grinned and called out, "Hey, David, give me another Jack Wills!"

Still chuckling, he dug into his pocket, pulled out some cash, and slapped it on the counter, including a generous tip for David.

After finishing his second glass, Jack leaned back in his chair and became more talkative.

"Hey, David, do you know the history of this bar?" Jack asked, gesturing to the stool he was sitting on. "The spot I'm sitting at now—legends have sat here. Susan Forester, Old Snake, even Morgan Blackhand. All of them drank here, maybe even passed out on this very bar."

He let out a hearty laugh.

"And now, it's my turn! Hermano, it feels good to be here!"

Jack took another sip and added, "You know, I've got a good friend. We're tight—like family. She's a woman, but our connection? Pure friendship. I invited her to join me tonight, but she's stuck doing overtime for that corpo hellhole, Arasaka. Such a shame!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Ah, to hell with it. Let's not dwell on that. At least I met you tonight, David. You're alright."

Jack raised his glass. "Come on! Another round—two more Jack Wills! My treat this time."

David shook his head with a smile as he watched Jack speak animatedly, his thick Spanish accent adding flair to every sentence. Jack's carefree attitude was infectious, a welcome break in the grim reality of Night City.

Without hesitation, David prepared two more Jack Wills cocktails.

As they clinked glasses and drank together, Jack kept up his chatter, reminiscing about past escapades and making bold proclamations about his future.

By the time Claire returned from the restroom, she found David and Jack laughing together like old friends.

She arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

"Hey, Claire!" Jack greeted her warmly. "I was about to send a search party for you! Thought maybe you fell into the toilet!"

Claire rolled her eyes at him. "Jack, how many drinks have you had tonight to end up like this? And where have you been causing trouble recently? You're getting worse by the day!"

"Who, me? Nah! I'm just one big break away from making it big," Jack declared proudly. "David here even made a drink named after me—it's going to shake up Night City, you'll see!"

Claire chuckled and patted Jack on the shoulder. "Well then, I guess congratulations are in order, big shot!"

David couldn't help but smile at the banter between the two. Claire and Jack clearly had a long-standing camaraderie, the kind of bond forged over countless nights like this.

As the conversation continued, David grabbed the drinks he had prepared earlier and headed toward the private room where Rebecca and the others were waiting.

The bar was alive with music and revelry. On the dance floor, under the kaleidoscope of flashing lights, people swayed to the rhythm, their laughter and cheers mingling with the pounding bass.

In one corner, a group of shirtless men covered in Beast Gang tattoos danced wildly with women from the crowd. One of them, a hulking figure with a machine gun prosthetic arm, waved the metallic limb in rhythm with the music, drawing attention as the lights reflected off the weaponized appendage.

If anyone paid close attention, they'd recognize these men as the same ones involved in the attack on the viaduct earlier in the day.

The leader of the group, Greli, was particularly animated, his massive frame shaking with the beat.

But then, something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

As David passed by their corner, heading toward the private room, Greli froze mid-dance. His mechanical arm lowered, and his eyes narrowed.

"Damn," he muttered, his pupils dilating in recognition. "Isn't that the kid who rear-ended my car earlier today?!"

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the dance floor, another group was making their presence known.

A cluster of scavengers, their mohawks dyed in neon colors, lounged in a booth, drinking and laughing. One of them, equipped with six spider-like prosthetic eyes, scanned the dance floor with eerie precision.

"Boss," the man with the prosthetic eyes said, his gaze flicking from one target to another. "The girls here are something else tonight. My six eyes can hardly keep up!"

"Quit ogling and sit down," barked their leader, Oris, exhaling a puff of smoke. He looked visibly irritated.

"Damn bad day," Oris muttered. "I thought we'd make a killing today. Instead, that bastard Seth ended up dead. And to top it off, I wasted half the day chasing girls at Genting. Do you know how much those girls cost? Damn rip-off."

One of his men shrugged. "Well, boss, Seth was kinda useless anyway..."

"Useless or not, I don't like losing money," Oris growled. He leaned back in his seat and took another drag from his cigarette. "If I ever see that couple from this morning again, they're gonna pay for all my losses."

Suddenly, the man with the prosthetic eyes stiffened.

"Boss," he said urgently. "I think we just hit the jackpot."

"What?" Oris snapped, his irritation giving way to curiosity.

The man pointed toward the direction where David had disappeared moments ago.

"I just saw that kid from earlier," he said. "The one who got away this morning. He's heading to one of the private rooms!"

Oris sat up straight, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Positive," the man replied. "It's him, boss."

Oris crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, a sinister grin spreading across his face.

"Well, well," he said, his tone dripping with malice. "Looks like tonight just got interesting."

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