Chapter 8 : Lucky Day

“Keep leaving it like this, and the roads’ll be paralyzed. Clean it up.”
“Yes, Boss!”
“We’ll handle it quick.”

The tone and attitude are too crude for the ruler of a district.
His words are tossed out lightly, but no one here dares think they’re trivial.

Dokkaebi.

When they first stepped into the open, most on the streets scoffed—another crazy crew.
Blue-glowing masks covering below the nose, rampaging to “fix” the city—what a pathetic sight.
People figured they’d die quick, left to rot in some alley like trash.

Then, two days.
Days without pause in blood and gunfire, where gunpowder replaced the sun to mark the dawn.

In just two days, part of Sixth Street—the gang calling themselves vigilantes, ruling Santo Domingo—was dismantled.
As bodies on the streets dwindled and unjust shootings dropped, the war ended.

Punishment for the wicked, protection for the good.
That’s what they preached.
Words that became dreams, fantasies, in a world where such things stopped being obvious.

Gangs vying for empty turf vanished without a trace, and the city’s danger level was rated “safe” for the first time.
They kept a promise no one thought possible.

After the “Two-Day War,” people knew who ruled these streets, who protected them.

His words became a binding spell, a force you couldn’t help but obey.

Dokkaebi rose from that.
A group of avengers, born from those who saw the city’s cruel truth after losing friends, lovers, family.
Protectors, gathered to stop others from suffering the same.

The one called Boss, who forged them with his own hands, carried that weight in his words.

“Still terrifying as hell.”
“Speak politely.”
“Ugh, fine.”

No one can gauge his true strength.
His clean skin, untouched by cyberware, looks almost too pristine.
Yet the gun he wields, even minimally modded, is too much for even their enhanced bodies to handle.

Some say he’s a drug-modded soldier, a secret weapon.
But the truth sank with his Dokkaebi mask.

The story of a guy whose arm broke backward at the elbow firing that gun is still a hot topic among the crew.
Unfathomable strength.
The power to wipe out a district’s gang single-handedly.

No one knows where he’s from or what life he led.
They just assume he built this group from shared pain.
A man who gave up living for himself in this sh*tty world, driven by one goal: erase evil.
A man carrying their dream to show the world their existence, to make those who crushed their loved ones pay.
Never once has he used that power for personal gain.
He lets insults and slights slide—most of the time.
He only rages when people are treated as less than human.

“Not following him would be weird…”
“You gonna clean or not?!”

Arasaka, Militech—it doesn’t matter.
No resistance, no fear, no dread, no death.
They just obey.
When the Boss’s order drops, hundreds of Dokkaebi with glowing blue eyes will ride the darkness to find you.

“Gloria Martinez…?”

Why.
How.
The thread tying me to this world just snapped.
By my standards, she’s not purely good—barely clinging to the edge of decency.
If it weren’t for “for my kid, for my family,” ripping cyberware from corpses to sell wouldn’t be forgivable.
At least she doesn’t kill directly.

But that was her best option.
In this society, this country, this world—a forced, inescapable choice.
I couldn’t blame her, didn’t blame her.
In a world that openly allows, even needs, such acts, it was her only path to goodness.

That’s why I let myself form a bond with her.
A bond I swore I’d never make again.

“She’s barely alive. At this rate, soon…”

It’s not the doctor’s fault, but his silence, like he’s given up, makes my eyes narrow.

“This… sigh… not your fault. Get out.”
“Yes, sir.”

Damn it.

Her death doesn’t “cost” me anything.
In this city, a single death is a joke.
Built on blood, stacked with bodies—that’s Night City.
I’ve seen it all.
I hate that humans adapt, that I’m growing numb to it.

F*ck, did I just say “cost”?

The more I see corpses, the more normal it feels.
That’s why I chase a “normal,” “ordinary” life so desperately.

To me, not feeling anything—not even disgust—at a close friend’s death is an unbearable “abnormality.”

My anger isn’t about the doctor’s skill.
It’s the chilling numbness filling me that makes me shudder.

“Inventory.”

A seething voice, barely mine, claws up my throat.
In my hand, a drug.
Something that doesn’t exist in this real world anymore.

I don’t know its ingredients or name.
In the game, it was a miracle—stab it in before death, and HP fills, bringing you back.

This body doesn’t get hurt, so I’ve never used it.
I don’t know what it’ll do in reality.
But I can’t hesitate with her vitals crashing.

I grab Gloria’s arm.
Her wrist, thin enough to fit in one hand, feels lifeless.
Her skin’s sensitivity is so low it’s like touching through gloves.
I press the syringe to her arm.

The moment I press this button, there’s no going back.
The drug will flood her system, and I can’t predict how this game’s bizarre system will work.
Will it glitch?
Will something impossible manifest?
No guarantees.

But I can’t stop.

No point in worrying like everyone else when there’s no other option.

No clue what’ll happen, but I’ll save her first.
If she resents me, she can do it when she wakes.
I’ll listen then.

What’s the point of hesitating?
I press the button, and the needle pierces her skin, injecting the drug.
Don’t die.
Just don’t.

Crack—

Ten minutes after the injection, maybe.
I hear it—twisted, broken bones snapping back into place with an unnatural sound.
I see it—her pale, blood-drained skin regaining a vivid flush.
I feel it—her slowing heartbeat speeding up, returning to normal.

The sh*tty mood lifts, if only for a moment.

Beep—

If it weren’t for that sound.

“Hey!!”

The moment I hear it, my irritation surges past its limit.
My voice, thick with that feeling, is enough to make the cautious doctor rush back in like he’s diving.

“What’s—!”
“What the f*ck’s her condition?!”

I point at her, seemingly fine on the outside, and glare up.
In this confined space, my voice echoing, the doctor’s sweat-soaked head bobs as he checks her.

My anger isn’t aimed at his effort, but his trembling, like a leaf, makes me click my tongue.

“This… what…”
“Doc, don’t keep it to yourself. Let’s hear it.”

I’m losing it with frustration.
I grab his shoulder, slinging an arm around him like we’re buddies.
His shaking worsens, but the answer I want comes quick.

“Her body… it’s fully healed! It’s a miracle… how…?”
“Great, now explain why she’s not waking up.”

I narrow my eyes, and his excitement flattens.

“No idea why, but… her brain waves… they’re gone!”

F*ck, so that means—

“I’m sorry to say, but… it’s like brain death…”
“Haa…”

My eyes close tight, blocking the world.
Of course things felt too smooth.
Of course it’s this.

This fcking sht.
No wonder my luck’s been too good lately.