cyberpunk: Travel to 2075

David Martinez's Thoughts

David Martinez felt something was wrong.

No, he had sensed something was off since he left his house.

David lived in the giant skyscraper H4 in the Santo Domingo district, an apartment building primarily inhabited by low-level workers. Accustomed to the tired, numb gazes of others after work, David could keenly perceive different kinds of stares—those of drug addicts, thieves, and now, people with ulterior motives toward him.

He was being targeted.

David trusted his instincts. They had kept him safe in Night City when his mother was too busy to care for him and he didn't carry a gun.

His eyes scanned the street, eventually landing on an NCPD officer patrolling nearby.

Patrol officers in the NCPD had the highest mortality rates and were the least popular positions, but their presence did help maintain some street safety—although, in Santo Domingo, the Sixth Street Gang usually had the final say.

David moved toward the NCPD officer, hoping their presence would deter whoever was following him. He'd used this tactic before, either seeking help from the Sixth Street Gang or the NCPD. Compared to the lowest-level street gangs and scavengers, even the corrupt NCPD seemed more approachable to ordinary citizens.

But this time, his usual trick wasn't working.

Even as he neared the NCPD officer, the sense of being watched intensified. Whoever was following him wasn't afraid of the police, indicating they were no ordinary street gangster.

David hadn't done anything to warrant this attention. If it weren't for the skyscraper behind him, he might have considered running home. But running would expose his address, and if the person behind him wasn't afraid of the NCPD, his mother could be in danger.

His hand touched his pocket—there wasn't much money, but enough to buy the cheapest disposable pistol from a street vending machine. A five-euro plastic pistol could fire one bullet, powerful enough to kill an average adult.

Could he do it? He had never fired a gun before.

He had to.

Encouraging himself, David passed the NCPD officer, pretending not to notice his follower. Asking for help was out of the question—patrolling officers might flee faster than him if faced with someone fearless of the NCPD. They might even use him as a human shield. The only thing keeping them safe was their uniform, not their sidearms.

As he passed the officer, David glanced back, catching a glimpse of his follower—a sturdy man with black hair tied in a small braid, wearing a bulletproof jacket. His waist was bulging, clearly holding a weapon far more formidable than a standard issue Lexington.

Bad luck. This man was terrifying.

What had David done to be targeted by such a person? He didn't look like a scavenger; he seemed more like a corporate bodyguard. Why was someone of this caliber following him?

David quickly reviewed his life but found nothing that could explain this.

He grew up in Santo Domingo, was a good student, and had been admitted to Arasaka Academy. Although he faced rejection from the rich kids there, he had lived an ordinary life. Why now?

A saying crossed his mind: In Night City, you never know which will come first, tomorrow or an accident.

Determined, David approached a vending machine, bought a random drink, and pretended to quench his thirst.

The drink was a mistake—a small coke, and he wasn't good with carbonated drinks.

Ignoring this, he calmly pressed the button for a disposable weapon. Payment completed, and the clink of the product dropping stiffened him. It sounded too much like a gun's bolt being pulled. But he stayed composed, picked up the weapon, and gripped it firmly.

The plastic gun had one bullet. Only one chance.

David took a deep breath. This wasn't a Lexington; its bullet was powerful enough to penetrate bulletproof vests but had severe recoil. He couldn't afford to miss.

As he steadied himself, the footsteps behind him grew louder. Had they seen him buy the gun?

His body trembled, but his grip on the weapon was strong.

Then, the footsteps quickened, and a firm hand grabbed his, stopping him from turning around.

David wasn't experienced enough.

It's over.

He expected the worst, but the man's voice, almost amused, spoke from beside him.

"David Martinez, your film-selling operation has been exposed. Come with me."

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