The sun, a sickly, polluted orange orb, speared through the grimy, slant window of Teo's apartment, hitting him like a physical blow. His eyes, heavy from a restless, grief-haunted sleep, squinted open, struggling against the harsh, unwelcome light. He lay there for a moment, disoriented, the silence of the empty room pressing in on him, a fresh wound.
Beep... beep beep.
The insistent chirping of his front door buzzer sliced through the oppressive quiet. Someone was already trying to invade his fragile peace. Teo groaned, stretching his long arms above his head, the joints cracking. He swung his feet off the bed, landing on the cold, grimy synth concrete floor. "Coming!" he yelled, his voice rough with sleep and disuse. The buzzer, however, seemed to take his answer as an invitation for escalation. Beep beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
"Alright, that's too much," he muttered, running a hand through his tangled dark red hair. A quick glance at his internal chrono, projected directly onto his Kiroshis, blinked, 07:30 AM. "Way too early for this shit." He pulled on the oversized black jeans from last night, slipping the belt around his waist, the familiar feel of the fabric a small comfort. He didn't bother with a shirt. He strode out of his desolate bedroom, the two bedroom apartment feeling vast and silent apart from the infernal buzzing. He walked to the front door and peered through the spyhole, his green eyes narrowing.
It was Jackie.
Teo yanked the door open, his gaze dead set on his cousin, a flicker of genuine malice in his emerald eyes. Jackie froze, his finger still poised over the buzzer, looking up at Teo's bare, towering frame. "Geez, mano, I've been here for five minutes!"
"I was asleep, asshole!" Teo snapped, the words echoing in the sudden, startled silence of the hallway.
"Ay, mano, not around the chica!" Jackie tried to scold, his eyes darting to the side.
From behind Jackie's broad shoulder, a slender figure stepped into view. Misty, Jackie's girlfriend, smiled warmly. Her eyes, luminous and empathetic, seemed to see right through the rough exterior. Misty was a walking enigma of Night City. She ran the Esoterica shop in Watson, a haven of crystals, tarot cards, and ancient remedies in a world of bleeding edge chrome and cynical disregard. Her philosophy was rooted in holistic healing and spiritual balance, a stark contrast to Jackie's street level pragmatism, yet they were undeniably drawn to each other. She moved with a gentle grace, her voice soft but surprisingly firm. "Hey, Teo! Morning! I'm here to help you move!" she said excitedly, a genuine warmth radiating from her that was rare in this city.
"Ah, hey, Misty!" Teo's anger immediately deflated, replaced by a flush of embarrassment as he realized he was shirtless. "Sorry! I'll go get a shirt!" He mumbled, turning sharply and practically sprinting back into his room. Thirty seconds later, he emerged, pulling on a clean white tank top, a fresh version of the wife beater (I'm calling it that from now on) he'd worn yesterday, feeling slightly more human. Jackie and Misty were already inside, having let themselves in, folded moving boxes stacked neatly in their arms.
"Alright," Teo said, gesturing towards the desk crammed into a corner of the living room, cluttered with wires, an old monitor, and his Militech Paraline OS. "Me and Mama... we didn't have much. My setup is over there, I'll start with that." He swallowed, the words catching in his throat. "You guys... you can pack up Mama's stuff. The only things left in there are jewelry and random stuff like pictures. I cleaned out most of her other things over the past year." He'd spent countless sleepless nights purging the apartment of her presence, each item a fresh stab of grief, but also a desperate act of preparation for the inevitable. They didn't have much, anyway, the disease had seen to that, bleeding them dry, leaving only ghosts and memories behind.
The next two hours passed in a blur of motion. Boxes were folded, filled, taped shut, and carried down to Mama Welles' Thorton Galena parked outside. The stairwell of the Glenview Heights Apartments, usually a stench filled echo chamber, now reverberated with the rhythmic thump of cardboard and the occasional grunt of effort. Teo carefully packed his netrunning gear, the cool metal of his Militech Paraline OS, his worn neural interface cables, his collection of dusty, illicit data shards. Jackie, with surprising tenderness, handled the heavier furniture, his powerful arms making light work of what little they owned. Misty moved through Maria's bedroom like a gentle spirit, carefully wrapping sentimental trinkets and old photographs, her quiet compassion a soothing presence.
Finally, Teo bent down, picking up the last box, a small, surprisingly light one containing old documents and a few forgotten keepsakes. He turned, facing the now empty living room. The silence was absolute, the oppressive silence of a tomb. A flicker of memory, sharp and vivid, played behind his eyes. His mother, laughing, chasing him around this very room when he was just a kid, her silhouette dancing in the dim, yellowed light. The sound of her laughter, warm and clear, echoed in his mind, then faded, leaving only the cold reality of the barren space. He sighed, the sound like a prayer, or a curse. 'Time to move on,' he thought, his gaze sweeping over the vacant space one last time. With a grim resolve, he stepped out, closing the door on a chapter of his life that was now definitively, painfully, over. He'd already dealt with canceling the lease, an impersonal transaction with a corporate drone who cared only for credits. All that was left was to meet Jackie back at the car.
He walked through the corridor, passing other renters who averted their eyes, lost in their own struggles, their own silent battles against the city. He made it to the large, caged elevator, tapping the grimy bottom button on its scarred screen. The machinery groaned to life, the rusted cables whining as it began its slow, rattling descent. With a final, creaking ding, the elevator doors opened onto the grimy parking lot.
As he approached, he saw Jackie and Misty in easy conversation, their laughter cutting through the morning haze. They stopped, their faces lighting up as they saw him. "Ready, mano! Let's head to the Coyote! I haven't had breakfast yet!" Jackie called out, his usual boisterous energy a welcome contrast to Teo's somber mood.
"Mhhm, okay," Teo agreed, his voice still quiet. He placed the last box in the trunk, the thud a final punctuation mark on his departure, and slid into the back seat. Jackie kicked the engine of the Thorton Galena on, its familiar growl a promise of movement, of going somewhere new, even if that somewhere was just another familiar corner of Night City. They started to head down the street, merging into the waking chaos.
It was an average day in Night City. Already, figures lay slumped in doorways, passed out from last night's chrome or drink, their bodies indistinguishable from the discarded garbage. Down the block, a trio of junkies swayed, their faces obscured by braindance straps, lost in simulated realities more palatable than their own. They passed a caged basketball court, a makeshift game already in full swing, the thud of the ball punctuated by the clang of metal against wire fencing. Distant gunshots echoed, far away but still distinctly heard, a constant, low level thrum of violence that was just background noise to the city's inhabitants.
On the small, grimy screen of the center console, a hyper energetic news anchor, her face digitally enhanced to improbable perfection, kicked on.
"Good morning, Night City! It's August 18th, 2075, and chaos hasn't taken a day off. In Watson, a late-night joint raid by MAXTAC and Arasaka Security left fourteen dead after a Maelstrom black clinic was uncovered operating out of an abandoned warehouse, the clinic was allegedly fitting clients with unstable cyberware designed to trigger psychotic breaks within months. Meanwhile in Pacifica, tensions are flaring once again as NetWatch clashes with the Voodoo Boys deep within the Grand Imperial Mall subnet. Survivors of the newest netrunner meltdown speak of 'silver virus surges' and haunting digital voices, likely remnants of rogue AI clusters that somehow slipped the Blackwall's grip. Over in the Texan Free States, Militech is expanding operations into the DMZ, recruiting Nomads and mercs with chrome or citizenship deals in what critics call another corporate land grab. Back home in Japantown, the viral 'synthmeat riot' continues after a butcher went cyberpsycho and attacked a customer with a burning soy sausage, prompting #RealMeatOrRiot protests and renewed scrutiny of Biotechnica's protein processing. And in Heywood, respected fixer El Capitán survived a car bomb detonation outside El Coyote Cojo, locals suspect rising tension between the Valentinos and freelance mercs operating on their turf without tribute. Stay sharp out there, and now for the weather! The heat index is pushing 112°, smog levels are at Grade Orange, and drone storms are expected over Santo Domingo by nightfall. Night City never sleeps, and it never forgives."
Jackie visibly stiffened at the mention of the car bombing, his optics flaring with a brief, angry crimson. "Huh! Why outside the Coyote! I'll give those puta madres a piece of my mind!" he growled, his hand instinctively flexing. Misty, ever the calming force, gently stroked his arm, her touch soft yet firm. "Jackie, mi amor, breathe," she murmured, her voice a low hum. "Remember your chakras. Anger only poisons your spirit." Slowly, Jackie's tense shoulders relaxed, the crimson flicker in his eyes subsiding, replaced by their usual golden glow.
The ride continued, a familiar blur of neon and grime. Soon, they pulled up behind the Coyote, the lingering scorch marks and police tape of the bomb site a stark reminder of Night City's casual brutality. Teo and the others hopped out, grabbing some boxes, and headed inside. Mama Welles, polishing glasses behind the bar, looked up, her face lighting up with a rare smile. She immediately put her rags down, stepping out from behind the counter to help them carry the last few boxes inside.
As Teo brought down the first box, he finally saw the layout of the rooms. The basement of El Coyote Cojo was a sprawling space, damp but surprisingly clean, infused with the faint, comforting scent of stale beer and old spices from the bar above. There were two surprisingly large rooms, separated by a sturdy, unpainted synth concrete wall. This wasn't some cramped storage closet. it felt like a proper, if somewhat dingy, living quarter. One corner held a utility sink and a small, functional shower stall, indicating a rudimentary bathroom setup. The walls were bare, the lighting dim, but it was his.
'Not too shabby,' Teo thought, a flicker of something akin to hope igniting in his chest. 'A good place to start up shop. My own place.'
They spent the next hour setting up. Jackie, surprisingly handy with more than just guns and bikes, helped Teo assemble a synth wood bed frame and lay out the thin, utilitarian mattress. Misty, with her keen eye for detail, found a discarded crate to use as a bedside table and even managed to string up a few fairy lights from a forgotten storage bin, adding a touch of whimsical, if incongruous, warmth to the stark space. Mama Welles, meanwhile, brought down fresh linens and a stack of clean towels, her actions speaking louder than words.
Then came Teo's real work. He meticulously unboxed his netrunning rig. The Militech Paraline OS, his worn neural interface, a portable monitor, and various cables and adapters were carefully placed on a salvaged metal desk. He ran diagnostic checks, booted up his basic cyberdeck, the familiar whirring and soft glow a comforting presence in the cavernous room. This was his sanctuary, his command center, his launchpad. This was where Mateo Santiago Welles would start to build his name, one hack, one gig, one eddy at a time. The air still carried the scent of dust and old concrete, but now, a faint, almost imperceptible hum of data streams filled the space, the sound of his future beginning to take shape.
A/N: I'm tired, do first gig tomorrow, wrote 7000 words today, dono how I did it but I did. Goodnight.