Kiwi's idea of handing over the samples worked wonders to keep the vultures busy. As a result, the company was able to get back on its feet, the people of Night City went on with their lives, taking the city's new tree with the same calm indifference as any other oddity (since it didn't really affect most of them), and the crew managed to secure a whole year of peace.
Well...
Relative peace, rather—considering that Gloria safely gave birth.
And yes, Gloria named her son David.
Now, Faelan would've been thrilled not to have to be present during the delivery, pretending to be a relative—what with Gloria's screaming, the blood, the vice-grip on his hand (he had to heal two fractured bones from it), and everything else.
It turned out that when Gloria eventually learned about his supernatural abilities (which was bound to happen sooner or later), she basically begged him to be present during the birth, in case he needed to use his magic in an emergency to ensure her child was born healthy.
She didn't care what happened—if it came down to choosing between saving her or the baby, he had to save the latter, no matter what.
Faelan would swear Gloria didn't understand what a druid actually was and mistook him for some kind of voodoo priest or ritualist or something. He didn't blame her; fantasy literature wasn't exactly popular these days, and people knew more about dragons from graffiti and tattoos than from a good adventure novel.
Fortunately, he didn't need to do anything—the hospital staff did their job, and both mother and child were discharged two days later. The improvement in childbirth systems is undoubtedly one of the few—and undeniable—bright spots of the modern world.
Galina and the rest of the girls were absolutely delighted with little David, but Faelan didn't share the same enthusiasm and avoided getting close to him whenever he could.
Not for any deeper reason, really—he just hated when Gloria asked him to change dirty diapers or listen to the baby's screams.
It reminded him of those times he went to a restaurant hoping for a quiet meal, only for a couple to show up with their baby who wouldn't stop throwing a full-volume tantrum.
And the parents would do nothing—like they were deaf!
Plus, if baby diapers were already a chemical warfare situation in the past, then now, with synthetic food running through people's digestive systems?
A diaper could qualify as a fourth-gen biochemical weapon.
So, until David learns to use the potty on his own, Faelan would be a rare visitor in his life—just two or three years of blurry memories.
Gloria was completely absorbed in her role as a mother, dedicating one hundred percent of her time to David, with no need for exhausting jobs thanks to the land rental income.
With a little luck and enough motherly love, David might not want to become a merc, and Faelan could fulfill that wish tied to Rebecca—about preventing that storyline from ever developing.
Though whether or not he'd still end up at Arasaka Academy remained a mystery to him. Gloria wanted David to have better opportunities when he grew up, and from what Faelan had seen in the series, it was clear the resale of implants had been going on long before Maine's incident—all to pay for tuition.
He looked up the prices of the courses online just out of curiosity.
Truth be told? Not worth it.
They asked for a lot of money, and the knowledge and content you got in return was minimal in his opinion.
Still… if luck failed him, he'd find a lead to Rebecca eventually.
It wasn't like he'd been actively searching for her or her brother or anything like that—but he believed someone like her would stand out like a sore thumb.
He remembered reading somewhere about a story where she just went out to grab food and ended up massacring a pair of Tiger Claws who messed with the waitress… who then kicked her out of the place because of all the blood sprayed across her business. Not even a "thank you" or a meal to go.
Worst case, there were always the fixers—but he still tried to stay away from those people as much as possible.
Not everything had been good this year.
Sasha called him late at night on his Pip-Boy (which he was constantly upgrading when he had time, making small improvements), just as Faelan had finished dinner and was about to review some biology papers he'd gotten from Gordon, brush his teeth, and call it a night.
He was going through a phase of accelerated physical development and had been sleeping quite a lot.
["Good evening~!"]
["Sasha… to what do I owe the pleasure of hearing your voice at this hour?"]
["How flattering! Sorry for the late bother, but I bring bad news—I found another one of those guys in Heywood."]
Another one…
["Where exactly?"]
["Vista del Rey."]
Faelan pinched the bridge of his nose, irritated by the sudden change in plans and because he was starting to feel drowsy now that his stomach was full.
["How long ago did he show up?"]
["Just now! I overheard it in a conversation between a Mox and a Valentino couple—barely moments after he arrived."]
So Sasha was back to fishing through the nets again...
["Alright, I'm on my way."]
He changed into his Druid gear and prepared to head out.
Ever since the Tree of the Damned incident, a few fans, opportunists, and imitators had begun to appear. He should've expected it—especially given the local mindset—but he hadn't.
Fans weren't much of a problem for him—basically, they were people who had taken an interest in small-scale farming after seeing real plant life and formed a little exchange forum like beginner gardeners and hobby farmers.
Some were just following the new trend and would soon get bored, while others had developed a genuine interest. You could even see some elderly folks tending to parks and improving their appearance, causing a very slight resurgence of green in the city.
There were no more fake trees or plastic plants—these were real.
Faelan even found them pleasant, since more plants meant greater amplification for his trap spells, and every one of them added to the total.
But the imitators and opportunists had been a real headache. They'd essentially turned into a group of extremists trying to use him as some kind of idol for religious scams.
Seeing how the problem was escalating, he had no choice but to act.
Now, the Druid of Night City showed up whenever someone was stupid enough to make claims or scams in his name. It wasn't sustainable at all—there were too many people in the city and he was just one person—but for now, it was the only thing he could think of.
At least people realized that if these guys couldn't do the characteristic "butterfly trick," as they called it, they were fakes.
He needed to grow in influence, manpower, and power itself to improve the situation, but at least he held a line few dared to cross.
Turning people into flowerpot mummies had that kind of deterrent effect.
Oh, Faelan had no doubt that many of these posers were corpo employees or hired drifters aiming to ruin the Druid's legend, but despite trying various methods to understand how he did what he did, they had only succeeded in contributing to the myth.
As for his means of travel, he had solved that a while ago.
At first, he used sewers, vents, and the like to stay off-camera.
Now, the roots beneath his home had spread across much of the city, and by hollowing them out, he had the perfect transportation method when he dematerialized. After all, no one paid attention to little roots poking through here and there on the pavement.
…
Vista del Rey was a neighborhood in northern Heywood, bordering Japantown and close to the city center. It was densely populated, with megabuildings, vibrant streets, graffiti, noise, and culture.
The area was primarily controlled by the Valentinos, acting like a criminal family that also protected the largely Latino local community.
You could see it was full of religious murals, bas-reliefs of the Virgin, and similar imagery.
It was pretty ironic, considering much of the petty crime in the area was regulated by the gang.
Neon lights shone over graffiti of saints with guns, crowned skulls, and poorly written prayers. After materializing a short distance from his target, he walked silently, and as he passed, people looked at him with a mix of respect and unease; his presence stilled arguments like a cold breeze in a sealed room.
In front of the abandoned church—a blend of classical temple and converted nightclub—a small crowd had gathered, drawn in by a voice. At the top of the stairs, under a makeshift spotlight, a man stood with arms outstretched.
He was tall, dressed in a dirty green robe (clearly hastily and poorly dyed), and wore four-lens optical implants that reflected light like heavenly eyes.
Seriously? Of all things, this guy was the supposed imitator?
His voice was modulated, smooth yet resonant.
"I bring comfort to the sinners of chrome, peace to those who follow the green path… but also justice to those who trample life. What I have been given… can be shared. For a price."
Faelan kept walking, the crowd parting before him with pale faces as they recognized the real one. Everyone knew that scammer was done for—they'd just gathered to see the real Druid and… now they kind of regretted it.
Why did they have to be so nosy?
Naturally, their regret didn't stop them from staying to see what would happen next…
"What kind of justice are you selling, impostor?"
The scammer turned his head slowly. Upon seeing him, all four optics dilated. He'd heard the rumors too: the druid who made machines stop working, who brought life to dead chrome. A living phenomenon that was getting far too much attention for his liking.
One he was sure was just as fake as he was—just more professional and convincing in his act. Probably with access to higher-grade implants, but hey, two could profit off the same lie.
"Oh… the original honors us with his presence tonight," he said with a cynical smile. "Here to defend your legend?"
Faelan didn't answer—he didn't need words to deal with people like this. He simply advanced, and with each step, the devices near the scammer began to spark.
He'd grown quite skilled at managing the aura of SCP-166, and the fact that people kept their distance helped. By limiting the radial expansion, he could shrink one area to expand another, always keeping the same overall volume.
By the time he was just a few meters away, the voice modulator failed, and the optics' lights flickered as they began to degrade. The crowd stepped back at the live consequences, which were very different from dismissible, alcohol-fueled rumors.
"You don't need that stolen voice if all you're going to spread are lies and deceit," Faelan said calmly, like he was looking at an insect.
Thanks to knowledge picked up directly from Viktor during his long stay at the clinic, he noticed that the voice modulator in the man's throat was used and recently attached—no doubt scavenged from a corpse after a shootout or some accident.
What's more, it was a botched job—he was pretty sure it would get infected within a week tops unless he took specialized meds or went back to a ripperdoc for a reinstall. Not that that was going to be possible after today.
The impostor was trembling, part of his cyberarm shorted out and he collapsed to his knees as the internal dampeners failed to support his weight.
"What… are you?"
Only in the face of death, realizing the legend was real, did he understand the foolishness he'd let himself believe. He could feel it—the roots creeping through his veins, the implants rejecting his flesh and withering by the second.
He wasn't getting out of this. He was going to become an example.
"What you are not," Faelan said, playing along with the unnecessary theater of the moment. Then he turned to the crowd calmly. "Go home. This isn't a miracle. Just someone playing with a poor fool."
He didn't have to say it twice—the crowd dispersed instantly before he changed his mind, all except for one person.
"The famous Druid of Night City," said José Padilla, crossing his arms as he looked over what remained of the scammer behind Faelan. "You've brought a silence even my sermons can't manage."
Maybe he wanted to show he meant no harm, since his usual crew wasn't with him. He was alone, and if his hand hadn't been trembling from what he'd just witnessed, he might've even looked confident. Almost.
In fact, the entire street seemed to have been cleared.
A show of good faith? Or secrecy? Or a trap?
Faelan hadn't interacted with the Valentinos before.
He said nothing, waiting for the priest to continue. He doubted this encounter was a coincidence—maybe Padilla wasn't the one who tricked the scammer, but he didn't stop him either, likely waiting for the real druid to show up.
If he had, the guy would already be asleep!
Just the thought irritated him further.
The silence only made José Padilla tense up more, unsure of how to interpret the lack of response—but he pushed forward with the conversation anyway.
"It's hard to get in touch with you. None of my colleagues could tell me how," he said, clearly referring to the other fixers in the city.
It was an unprecedented situation—normally, whatever one fixer didn't know, another would, for the right price.
"Because I don't want to be contacted!" Faelan thought, rolling his eyes. "I'm not some merc you can hire with a casual call, half-assed info, and pocket change."
He was quite sure that leaving a phone number or any kind of contact method would only lead to a terrible mistake—the kind that ends with a constant flood of spam.
"Get to the point. I'm tired." He didn't feel like swallowing flowery words or polite pleasantries.
"Very well…" It was clear the young-sounding voice was taken slightly aback. "I'd like to offer you a job."
Faelan stared at him for three whole seconds, making sure he hadn't misheard.
"You don't have a whole gang for that?"
"I do, but they can't take this one," the man sighed, sounding genuinely weary. "A week ago—"
"Nope. Stop right there," Faelan cut him off. "Why are you telling me this? Why do you even think I'll take the job?"
This was shaping up like a standard V-mission, and he absolutely wasn't in the mood for it.
"I'll owe you a big favor!" he said with fierce determination—it was clear he was willing to pay a heavy price. "Please. There are kids involved."
Faelan almost wanted to throw his staff at the guy's head. The problem wasn't payment—it was the precedent. If he took the job, others might think they could treat him like a mercenary too.
They'd believe that, with the right amount of money, they could give him missions… and orders.
He also hated emotional blackmail.
The number of kids having bad luck in this city? Plenty.
Still, a favor like that could come in handy. He already had the Mox indebted to him, but their turf and specialties were a joke compared to the Valentinos...
"Give me the details first. Then I'll decide if I take it."
The man breathed a sigh of relief at those words. It wasn't rejection he feared—it was not even getting the chance to explain.
"This morning, ten kids from different families were taken. An hour ago, we found out where they're being held." He rushed through the summary, remembering the person in front of him was growing impatient. "The problem is, the kidnappers are hiding in the 6th Street gang's turf. If we go in after the kids, it'll start a gang war."
If that really happened, a lot of people could die—and worse, there was no guarantee they'd get to the kids in time. The kidnappers could vanish or even use them as leverage.
And if they lost them again… something told him they'd never be seen alive.
"You want me to recover the kids?"
If that's all it was, in exchange for a solid favor from the Valentinos… he could do that.
"Yes! It'd also help if you could find out who had the balls to steal our kids, but priority is getting them back safe," the man nodded, his faith already in shambles.
Faelan pretended to consider it for a moment.
"Fine. But I want two extra favors," he raised his hand to show three fingers. "One big favor and two standard ones. Also… no one can know you hired me. I'll just happen to return the kids, and you'll decide you owe me. That's it."
It took Father a moment to grasp what he meant. The favors weren't a problem—he would've granted one per kid if needed. But that last part was a bit odd… until it clicked.
Even though he was trying to treat the guy like a fixer assigning a job to a merc, the person standing in front of him was not a merc. And clearly didn't want to be treated like one either.
As soon as he gave the address where the kids were being held, he witnessed the druid dissolve into a stream of green butterflies that split off into several currents and vanished from view.
"Jesus, María y José…" Father couldn't help crossing himself as he looked at the scammer, now motionless, with beautiful red flowers blooming from his body.
There might not have been people nearby, but when the scammer arrived, Padre had ordered several machines to be installed to try and scan and gather information on the infamous druid.
He wasn't even doing it for money—he was unsettled by someone who seemed capable of doing things only God should be able to do.
The data was streaming directly to his optics in real time—and nothing. The machines couldn't make sense of how he vanished, or what he did to turn the scammer into… that.
"I just hope I didn't end up owing favors to the diablo," he thought as he sat down on a nearby bench to calm his nerves, doing his best not to look at the human flower vase.
He had a gut feeling—better not to cross paths with this legend.