Chapter 19 : Machines

The café’s eerie silence chills to the bone.
It’s like the grim vibe fits it better, sinking into gloom.
Holding a cigarette in the middle of it, I’m the one feeling pissed off.

Sure, I made this scene, but nobody’s calling me out, so let’s move on.

“What, why you staring like that?”
“…”

Rebecca’s face, twisted in a way I can’t figure out how to mimic, doesn’t hide her disgust as she locks eyes.
Her red pupils warp around the edges, lips pursed less like a mouth and more like a snout.
Yeah, like she’s chewing sh*t.

It’s textbook revulsion, straight out of a painting.

“You know you’re trustworthy, but do you even get what you just did?!”
“I put a kill order on those sht-for-brains who think they own the place.”
“Arasaka fckers—I was gonna chase ‘em out someday, and that day’s now.”
“Idiot, that’s not it! This zone’s gonna be a warzone for a while!”

Is her shouting voice mixed with awe at the absurdity or blame for diving in without thinking?

At a glance, it’s like someone yelling at a fool sticking their head in a bullet’s path.
But in a city where people drop dead daily, I’ve known her long enough to get it.

The meaning in her words.
It’s not just anger she can’t hold back.
So, I narrow my eyes and meet her gaze.

‘Calling my affectionate look dirty.’
‘This little punk’s asking to die.’

“Well, what?”

Yeah, as expected.

“Our tsundere Rebecca, huh.”
“Who’s ‘tsundere’?!”

I pat her head lightly, rubbing it with pride, and keep talking.

She doesn’t deny the “our” part, and that unchanged side makes me chuckle.

She acts like it’s nothing, but I know she’s worried about this place and its people turning into a battlefield.
I’m used to it now—her being like this, shaped this way.

Guys like her are why I keep trying to live human.
Not knowing my own wavering heart suits me fine right now.
F*cking perfectly, even.

Half pride, half soothing, I tap her head gently through my rubbing hand.
“Ugh” and “Eck” sounds trade off, filling the air, then a kick flies my way.
Whoa there.

“Still lacking faith, kid!”
“Shut it, you muscle lump!”
“Hm, and that sharp insight—”
“You too, you rag-headed moron!”
“Still got that mouth like a towel soaked in gutter water…”

Her kicks turn to gunfire, aimed at their brows.
I glance over, but her ghostly aim’s as sharp as ever, making me proud as her teacher.
I knew she had raw talent, but seeing it now hits different.

Ping—!

“Boss, seems we got a problem.”
“F*ck, you bastard! If you’re gonna deflect, aim somewhere else!”

Unlike his playful bullet-dodging, the guy flicks out a dagger to parry, his brow creasing slightly as he turns.
That reaction’s the last thing I want.
Every time he says there’s a problem, my body remembers—no time’s ever been easy.
Pure irritation surges up.

“Thought it was going too smooth… What is it?”

No clue who the f*ck it is, but I’m adding them to my kill order.
Swear it.

“This wasn’t part of the deal…!”

Before feeling the blood trickling under his nose, the thrill of pulling off a insane reverse on the road jolts through David’s hands gripping the wheel.

His body’s so tense his fingers won’t unclench, heart pounding like it’ll burst.

“You thought Arasaka’d just hand over the car?”
“No, but… this plan’s way too improvised!”

His voice sounds like a complaint, but both Lucy hearing it and David saying it know it’s more, and they smirk.

“That’s what being a cyberpunk’s about… Well, anyway.”

Lucy exhales like a sigh, eyeing the nosebleed-dripping, hyped-up kid.

“Good job, David.”
“Phew—”

He lets out the heat from his burning blood with a long breath, grinning wider than before.

“Didn’t think there’d still be lunatics pulling stunts like that in this zone.”

More than anything, that’s what shocked and threw him off.
Even if Tiger Claws are big elsewhere, who’d expect them to go this wild here?

“Probably thought Arasaka had their back.”
“Stupidly… No corp would do that.”

Lucy’s words carry a hint of pity, but before David can question it, she lifts her head, shooting him a side-eye.

“By the way, when Maine said… if those guys are Dokkaebi, and the boss is that famous without being known, why’d they start this?”
“…How was I supposed to know?”

‘Should’ve shut my eyes and played dumb.’
For a split second, self-loathing and regret spike, and he barely stops himself from squeezing his eyes shut, wiping the nosebleed off his chin.

Their active time’s short—too short to describe—but that makes them scarier.
They dismantled over half of Sixth Street right from the start.

That’s why no info exists, just rumors swirling around the ghost called Dokkaebi.
And their boss is…

“Technically, a friend of my mom’s.”
“No clue how they know each other, though.”
“Gloria…? No wonder he kept saying ‘son.’”
“…Wanna say it’s not true, but now I’m not sure.”

The guy who called himself John, with a name as common as dirt—his real deal’s still a mystery.
What kind of connection lets him spend money like water, keeping Mom in a hospital?
From their eerily similar vibes to the way he treats David with almost too much care.

With a body ready to collapse, his eyes blaze as he tears down the road.

“Gotta meet him soon and ask what the hell’s going on.”

“This is the spot, but… it’s locked?”
“They should be here by now… At least the signal jammer’s working.”

The car doors, locked tight like a prison moments ago, slide open with her gesture and eye flick.

“Doors open now?”
“Unlocked ‘em just now.”

Her tone’s flat, like it’s no big deal, and David steps out.

“Wait, I’ll check.”

Leaving her behind, arms crossed, he approaches the only visible door, peering through its window.
All he sees is dust and a few pieces of furniture.
No sign of life.
Then, a bike roars toward the place—no, it’s reflected in the glass!

“Hey, punk!!”

A cheap drawl and sudden exhaust roar show no sign of stopping, charging to grind him down.
One second late, and he’d be shredded.

“Whoa!!”

He doesn’t dodge so much as fling himself, twisting fast.
Shards and a storm of wind mark where he stood, reminding him that could’ve been him.

“Running’s no fun! Let’s play more!”

Play like that, and David’d be split into Dave and Vid, scattered.
He tries to stand, showing the fiercest rejection he can muster.
But no matter how low he’s sunk, these are fixers good enough for Arasaka gigs.
Skilled thugs, in short.

Somehow, they’ve pinned his clothes, keeping him down—damn slick move.

A blade gleams, pulled with cyberpsycho-level hype.
Not even fully drawn, but it already feels like it’s slicing him.

His body freezes, pupils dilating.
The sensation of facing death—direct, no rumors, life’s end.

“Tch!”

If Lucy’s wire hadn’t wrapped the sheath, that feeling would’ve ended the story.

In other words, the guy’s focus is on Lucy now.

Opening!

David triggers his Sandevistan, springing up and slamming into the guy.
With enough mass and insane speed, it’s no mere punch—it’s a force.

The blade, about to swing at Lucy, shatters its sheath, tangling as the guy rolls.

But, as expected, the guy’s used to scraps like this and kicks David off.

“Gah!”
“You little brat!”

The blade swings at David again.
And—

Stops.

“What’s this guy doing?”

No wind, no sound, no vibration.
Without warning, a man stands there, casually holding the blade between his fingers.

“W-what the…!”

The Tiger Claw’s arm shakes, but the man, calm as hell, moves his hand to stick a cigarette in his mask’s mouth.

Huff—

“Your boss didn’t tell you? No shooting, no stabbing.”

The words, exhaled with smoke, are light but heavy, terrifying compared to the thug.

“Anyway, welcome to Santo Domingo.”

The man grins, pulling a gun from his coat—hard to believe it fit there.

What’s that? A pistol?

Its absurdly long barrel’s nothing like a pocket pistol.
Heavy, dark, violence forged into a weapon, clear at a glance.

“And goodbye, dumbass.”

Click—

The sound cuts out.
Just a cannon-like boom and light swallowing the area, erupting.

Among the bodies scattering to nothing, the man grumbles.

“How the f*ck do they smell more like oil than people?”
“No wonder I b*tch about the trash stench.”

This is why I hate machines.