On my lowest, darkest days being ground underneath the boot-heel of Katsuo or the uncaring administration of Arasaka Academy, or experiencing the darker realities of growing up in Arroyo, I would entertain a fantasy or two about one day owning a mansion in North Oak and riding into the subdistrict on my very own Rayfield Caliburn wearing an outfit worth a hundred grand.

Thing was, I’d always be pushing forty in those dreams, with decades of backbreaking work under my belt, slowly climbing to the top of the corpo world inch by inch.

Today, I was still seventeen years old, and yet…

I was two for three on that fantasy already.

Saturday had arrived all too quickly, despite the dozens upon dozens of hours of training that took up every solitary ounce of my free-time. I had only the bare minimum amount of sleep necessary to keep my brain fresh and ready to absorb more skill and knowledge. Every hour outside of school, I spent in whatever track or abandoned warehouse driveway I could find, practicing my drifts, maintaining my lines, becoming one with the Murkmobile.

My contact and familiarization with the car was frantic, feverish. I disposed of all pleasantries and foreplay, every bit of friendliness that we could have formed between ourselves. I made her understand the mission, manipulated her by her ardent desire to go fast, and led her on by her departed master’s dream to rid the city of its rot.

And that started with me at the top.

This was the sort of conceit that Nanny wanted to beat out of me with words, but for this mission, audacity was one of my greatest weapons. I’d worked as hard as I could at this point—all that was left was to win, and I would win.

I turned the steering wheel of the Caliburn, driving out from a main road and into a smaller road that led directly to the Country Club. My wrist glistened with the gold of my newly bought watch, providing a bright contrast to the dark red shade of my new suit blazer, pants and glasses. The shirt underneath was black.

I had been sold on some ultra-prestigious perfume as well, that smelled like particularly fancy citrusy urinal cake—thankfully, the unused kind. Apparently, it wasn’t enough that I was just seen—I needed to be smelled as well. Yamanaka, the Jinguji employee that always seemed to attend to me every time I entered that high-end fashion store, apologized profusely to me for never asking about my non-existent fragrance game.

I had declined wearing rings—my fingers needed to be free for this. I was going to remove the watch too when the race started.

Nanny materialized next to me, wearing her usual red and white high-vis jacket, ripped blue jeans, and sneakers. She folded her arms and stared dead ahead, towards the arching gateway of the North Oak Casino and Country Club. [Never really understood the concept of casinos.]

I looked at her with a snort. “You’re not going in looking like that.”

She snorted. Then she snapped her fingers. Suddenly, she was wreathed in a shower of blue light that obscured her form. When it disappeared, she looked entirely different. A one-shoulder, glittering red dress with a leg split on the upper thigh, opposite the singular shoulder strap. She wore long, white gloves with a high-vis material, high-heeled white and diamond-studded shoes, and a fresh coat of make-up on her face that accentuated her cheekbones, darkened her eyes, reddened her lips and gave herself a slight, but constant blush.

I raised an eyebrow when I saw the hair, however. It had darkened. She was still rocking an undercut, with all her hair swooping over to the other side, reaching down to her shoulders, but the color had moved away from mine now, and was a lot darker. “New hair?”

[I’d ask what you think, but I don’t really care.]

“Looks nice,” I said.

[Why do I even have to wear this?]

“You can’t ruin the vibe,” I said. “Everything’s gotta be just right. Can’t afford distractions.”

[I could just not manifest. Not like anyone will be able to enjoy my illustrious appearance or presence.]

“Up to you—just don’t distract me.”

She started reaching towards the window, pulling up a program and giving the code a look. I snorted. “I don’t think last-minute adjustments to the program is gonna help us.”

[Every bit counts.]

Supposed so.

[I would say this is a far more vital usage of our time than going shopping.]

“We’re not going to fucking Lizzie’s here. And you remember what Jin said last time I didn’t dress up, right?”

Nanny started humming. [Yankee Doodle went to town, riding on a pony. Stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni.]

Huh?

She gave me a side-eye. [You’re Yankee Doodle.]

“I don’t even know how you’re trying to insult me right now.”

Rather than explain it to me, she transmitted the main gist—‘macaroni’ was apparently an ancient adjective for bougie and fancy, and Yankee Doodle was a poser who could only poorly imitate that trend by putting a feather in his—ugh, whatever. “The difference is, I’m actually macaroni, my clothes have real value—also, who even gives a shit, here? Who are we pretending for, between you and me? We both know I’m not a real corpo.”

[You’re the one who’s pretending—]

“With them, genius,” I gestured vaguely at the gate we were pulling up to. “You’re part of the con. First of all—I don’t tell you you’re doing a bad job at maintaining my body, so don’t tell me I’m doing bad at the social aspect of all this, because if you’re not gonna help, then I don’t wanna hear you complain.”

She rolled her digital eyes. [Don’t yank your doodle too hard, dandy. Manipulating meatbags isn’t the grand achievement you think it is.]

“Program, Nanny,” I said as we just arrived at the gate.

[The simulations are looking good. Compared to the data, we should be able to push for an additional 5% efficiency compared to Tōge Oni’s top numbers. If we do everything perfectly, and if our program manages to model the other cars to an acceptable tolerance.] The primary assumption was that every racer was optimizing for getting ahead, and were doing so using rational methods. We did make some allowances for foul play, but given what I knew about the race, there was very little room for such stuff.

The security guard walked up next to my car and gestured to roll down the window. “Name?”

“David Martinez,” I said. “Jin Ryuzaki’s waiting for me.”

He looked down at his tablet, tapped away, and then quickly gave me a nod. “Right this way, sir,” He gestured at the gate. It opened up before me.

I drove on up the sloping road, listening to Nanny continue going on about the algorithm. The sun was just above the edge of the slope, casting the world in an orange glow. Once I ascended, I saw the Casino and Country Club in its full glory—the closest I had ever been to it.

It was an enormous building. Not the tallest—standing at maybe fifty meters tall all in all—but it more than made up for that in its sideways bulk. The thing was wide, five times wider than it was tall. It was built on a hillside, and half of it hung over thin air with nothing supporting it underneath it.

And the windows were concealed by a waterfall coming from the roof, like an aqueous curtain that flowed down to feed the many waterways stretching across the enormous lawn.

The construction of this entire place just went for full flashiness, even if it didn’t make sense. And to perfectly punctuate that fact, above the main oblong building was a smaller building, of a similar shape, floating above the roof. There seemed to be some kind of slide—or maybe a set of stairs—leading from the roof of the big building to the entrance on the floating smaller building. Both were decked in palm trees on the roofs.

The road led me towards the big building, but to a downward slope that a sign along the road indicated was a parking space.

My eyes brushed upon the counter on my HUD. It was all but twenty-one hours left before the big reveal now. “Any updates on the bio-work?”

She didn’t turn to me, instead just smirking. [No spoilers.] She continued tapping away at a holographic keyboard that she projected for her ICON—but really, all that programming work was being done via my own link to the car’s system.

“…Come to think of it, how much processing power does it take for you to project yourself, anyway?”

[Given that it’s all happening in your head—very little. Also, why do you ask these questions when thinking about it for a moment would give you the answer?]

“Just making conversation.” A screen on the dash lit up, of a localized mini-map of the underground garage. Once we went into the cavernous depths of the garage, the CrystalDome windshield manifested a large orange arrow along the road ahead of us—directions for me to follow to my appointed parking spot. Apparently, it was three floors down, furthest away from the elevator.

I passed by an open space where two Caliburns were busy ripping donuts, surrounded by a raucous audience.

[Gale Larsson, Ken Burns,] Nanny spoke up, and the car door window next to me that revealed the sight lit up with digital frames of both cars, each labelled with the names that Nanny just gave. [Mid-tiers. Not worth our attention.]

As we passed by the parked cars, more of them lit up to the Murkmobile’s windows as Nanny fed me Jin’s data. Competitors ranging in quality, and the occasional big-name corpo in attendance. And they hailed from a whole bunch of megacorps. Arasaka, Militech, Zetatech, Microtech, Biotechnica—if it had ‘tech’ in the name, it was being represented. [I think I saw Techtronika somewhere as well.]

I snorted. “Might be the only tech company I feel positively about.” They made good fucking guns. My Burya hadn’t failed me yet.

On my way down, my scans spotted cars owned by Trauma Team and Petrochem, and some people that looked like they were from either QianT or Kang Tao based on their color and dress.

[Corpoland’s capital city,] Nanny remarked as I slid into the parking spot and exited the car.

D: I know people back from Arroyo that’d give their life to be dropped in here with a D5 Copperhead and a bagful of grenades

Nanny walked next to me with confident steps. [Any chance that’ll ever be you?]

D: It’d be a waste. Kill a bunch of corpos and nothing really changes. It’s the system that needs to die, not some gambling-addicted suits

I walked by a pair of corpos stumbling drunkenly overly, looking for their car.

[Worst case scenario, and all this LARPing goes to hell?]

I snorted. She already knew the answer to that.

I’d long since crossed the boundary of being set for life. Money wasn’t my goal. The mission was.

And if I couldn’t topple Arasaka from the top, then I’d burn it from the ground.

[That would only return the city to its pre-unification war status quo. Or do you mean to say that Militech would be next, and then the next megacorp HQ filled with disposable drones, over and over?]

I finally arrived at the elevator. I pressed the up button and waited for it patiently, thinking for a moment about what it meant to take the corps down.

The most logical place to start would be the division of labor. In the end, such an undertaking couldn’t be an individual one.

I needed people. Not just the crew either. Many people.

D: It ain’t just about taking down invincible megacorps. It’s about letting the masses know they ain’t invincible. That’s where the real change starts. A spark next to a rigged CHOOH2 tank

The elevator finally arrived. When it opened, it revealed Nanny standing inside, arms folded and eyebrow raised. [D sets up the CHOOH2 tank, and you fix the spark?]

I shrugged and entered the elevator.

D: All movements need resources. And people. The streets got the people, the corps got the resources.

[So, it’s no longer for the paystub then, you going around murdering gangsters and corp security guards. Finally done playing Edgerunner? Now it’s time for the masked menace to take the stage—Murk Man II.]

I actually laughed at that. Damn, I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around that gonk. What was it that people said about this sort of thing—inherited will? Guess I’d inherited his will inadvertently.

Guess this was for the better—gonk didn’t have the skills to back up all those dreams. For him to die at just the right time for me to grab his wheels and hear his life’s mission might have done more for that mission than anything he’d ever done before that point.

[I’m glad that you’re finally starting to get a handle of what it is exactly that you want.]

I hummed. I had a slight aversion to thinking about the future beyond just the broad strokes. The potential for getting distracted or sidetracked felt a bit too real. Power and influence had to come first, above anything else. Those things were necessary for enacting whatever it was I wanted.

Nanny stood in front of me and lightly shoved me back to the wall of the elevator. [You can’t live on momentum forever, you know. At some point, you need to start thinking about what you’re doing all of this for.]

I didn’t like her tone or intensity, but that paled in comparison to how much I didn’t like what she was getting at. Biting the shit-burger of ideology and putting more rigid terms and conditions for what a true success would look like.

The opposite of what I had been doing thus far—winging it, and going for the nearest shiny goal, the goal my mother had given me.

I clenched my jaws and shook my head, dispelling the distractions. I could think about that later, after I had fixed this QianT deal. Whatever it was I’d end up coming up with in the future, I wouldn’t be jeopardizing that with my current efforts. If anything, I’d only make my life easier.

The elevator opened, revealing the shimmering, shining interior of the main lobby. Corpos dressed in every color of the rainbow rushed about with either joyous or hyperfocused expressions, drinks in hand as they chased their next gambling high. A hallway led to slots while another led to an open floor with giant screens on the walls displaying—stocks. Thankfully, that area didn’t take precedent compared to the more traditional gambling games—roulette, poker, blackjack, and stuff I didn’t even have a name for.

The sight was disorienting, but the noise was on a whole other level. Chimes meant to hype you up played every which way, trying to attract you like creatures from some kind of fairy tale. The worst part was, it was working.

What attracted me to one particularly shiny slot machine wasn’t really the prospect of making money from it, but… just playing with it. Looking at the pretty colors and hearing the sounds.

[Stay on target, David—I may have made your brain a bit too suggestible, so try not to get too distracted or you’ll piss away what little time we have before the race.]

Right.

I called Jin.

He picked up after only a ring.

David: So, where are you?

Jin: At the slots, the floor near the lobby. Look around.

I did, dodging past crowds of enthusiastic customers that ran around drugged up, drunk, and chasing the high of a big win. They had the energy of children in an amusement park. The dissonance twisted my gut somewhat.

[Stay strong, church boy. Do it for god.]

The hell was she even on about? Her comment baffled me out of my discomfort and I focused on the task at hand instead.

Jin was at the end of a row of machines, idly pulling the handle, glazed eyes fixed on the ever-changing series of symbols. As usual, he was dressed in a blend of traditional and modern. A long black haori with a glowing white circuitry pattern at the hem was the main piece. Underneath it, he wore a darker than black graphic tee with a white depiction of an oni in simple line art. The white lines glowed like the circuitry pattern on his haori. Matching the color scheme, he wore baggy black pants with glowing white hems. His accessories didn’t stray away from the theme either—gleaming white bracelets and necklaces.

And his cyberware arms were stripped of their realskinn, revealing black and white metal underneath at his forearms.

He didn’t take his eyes off the game even as he addressed my arrival. “Davey-chan, go ahead and take a seat.” He gestured his off-hand at the stool next to him while pulling the handle of his machine, the metal lever clinking against his chrome fingers. “Liking the place?”

“It’s a little much for me,” I said, taking the seat while facing him. I had no interest in the game. “Think I saw a trading floor on the way in. The hell was that about?”

“Oh yeah, stock gambling. That one’s a classic, but only if you’re coked up enough. It’s pure fucking numbers man, where’s the fun in that?”

“Yeah, not like slots,” I chuckled. “That’s some preem shit right there.”

Jin chuckled and pulled the lever, still just staring.

Was he… good?

“Look at this shit,” Jin said, smiling slightly. “I don’t even know how this game works.” He was interrupted from his rhythm of pulling the lever by a victory of sort. Lines began appearing on the screen, drawing patterns between the symbols, and his credit count ticked upward slightly, from—wait, what the fuck. He had twenty thousand eddies in this game. Was that how much he had won? “All I know is I’m ticking downwards.”

“Downwards? Wait, how much did you start with?”

He laughed. “I sunk a cool two-hundred grand into this game.” The fuck? “I don’t think I’m gonna win, but it’s fun. Hell, I don’t even need to know the rules to get what I want from it.”

I grimaced at that.

What the actual fuck?

I looked at the game. “Light and sounds?”

“Light and sounds.”

“Can’t you just… play a game like that for free or something? On the Net?”

“Nah, the money’s necessary, or it just doesn’t hit the same.” Then he clapped both hands on the machine and turned his swiveling stool towards me. “Enough of that shit, though. You’re finally here. Now we can talk shop.” He hopped off the stool and started walking away. I looked at the machine for a moment and saw that Jin had closed his tab with it, withdrawing what was left inside his account before leaving. I hastily followed after him. “So, how’re you feeling about the race?”

I frowned in determination. “I’ve prepped enough as it is. Done everything I could. If all goes according to plan, I might even break a record for one of the tracks, but that’s under ideal conditions. I’ve got an algo for this shit.”

“Which one?” he asked.

“Homemade,” I said. I had, of course, bought and scrapped every half-decent racing algo I found on the open market for parts, looking for what made them special. Nanny had done a lot of the heavy lifting on that end while I practiced racing, and together we had managed to create something rather effective. I was banking on the idea that our product might be able to match that of the corpo rigs in attendance, or failing that, my own reflexes could bridge that gap in tech power.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on NovelBin.

Jin hissed in disappointment. I rolled my eyes at that. “Yeah, I get it,” he muttered. “Honestly, I kinda half-assed this shit on my own end, expected too much from you.” Ugh.

“I worked hard on this algo,” I said. “It’s good stuff.” Better than anything I got my hands on from market.

“I’m sure it would have won you an A plus in one of your tech courses,” he said. “But fret not—you still have a manageable win-condition. You don’t need to get number one to win me what I need. All you need to do is beat some guys.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “Who?”

000

The moment we entered the fancy lounge area—silver furnishing and décor, with an open bar, apparently—Jin put me on a call.

Jin: We’re not friends with Masaki

Uh—okay.

Jin walked up to the bar where some blond guy in a bright red suit and glasses stood, swirling a short glass of whiskey. “Eyyyy, Masaki, as I live and breathe!” Jin wrapped an arm around the guy’s back and patted him on his shoulder.

“Jin,” Masaki gave Jin a fond grin. “Hisashiburi dana, eh, kōhai?”

“Hahahah,” Jin continued patting Masaki’s shoulder. “Too long, I’d say.”

[That disclaimer was absolutely necessary because they seem quite friendly.]

D: Totally agree

Jin: Yeah, he’s such a bitch, just look at him

Oh shit, we were still on a call. Jin hung up a moment later. “This is my boy, David,” he gestured behind him, at me. Masaki gave me a reserved grin and a slight nod. Guy had kiroshis with red irises, and a sharp face with perfectly shaped features. I scanned him and saw that his full name was Masaki Tetta.

[A vice president in Arasaka finance, according to the data,] Nanny rattled off, pulling up the information that we had gathered from the Tanaka network, and Tanaka himself. [A member of the Tetta family, a major competitor to the Ryuzaki family. Tetta has more power in Japan, but in Night City, Ryuzaki reigns supreme. Given that, it makes sense that Jin and Masaki aren’t friends. But that’s just post-facto rationalization at this point.]

But the info was useful.

“Nice to meet you,” Masaki said. His accent was quite audibly Japanese. Fresh off the boat? Given his family history, probably.

“Likewise,” I said, giving him a nod of respect.

“He’s also my racer,” Jin said. The bartender arrived with two empty glasses and a bottle of expensive sake—correction, ludicrously expensive sake, as far as I could tell from an errant scan. That price tag… couldn’t be right.

Nanny materialized next to the bar and watched as the bartender poured into the cups. [If you drink this glass, you’d have consumed more value than all those metals you ate a week ago. By a lot.]

I made the executive decision to delete that information from my brain. I couldn’t afford to think about that. At all.

The bartender slid the glass to me, and the other to Jin. I watched Jin pick his up and hastened slightly to copy him.

“And schoolmate,” Masaki said. “Interesting choice there, kōhai. There’s a story in there I wouldn’t mind hearing someday. Until then, why don’t we have a seat?” he gestured his glass of probably obscenely expensive whiskey over to a tiny table surrounded by ball chairs—chrome shells and red velvet cushioning on the inside. The chairs were amply spaced from the central table, too far for it to really be used as a table. Really, it was more like a convergence of social focus. An old lesson on the proxemics unit of that one Corporate Culture course I took as a junior sprung to mind.

With the chairs being equidistant to the table and spaced equally to one another, no single sitter had more power than the other.

Currently taking the seats was one guy in a black sharp suit and white shirt underneath. His tie was red. Classic. He had long slicked back jet black hair, a goatee, and was conspicuously one of the few white guys in attendance. Wait, no. More light-skinned than white. And on his breast pocket was an insignia that made me clench my teeth in slight annoyance. Biotechnica.

Nanny manifested before the guy and did an old-timey curtsie. [Buongiorno,] Nanny scanned him and I saw a floating window appear next to him revealing his name, [Alessandro de Prima. Son of Regional Director Giovanni de Prima. From Italy.] That wasn’t in the limited bit of data that came from the scan. More goodies from Tanaka’s data—and probably the Localnet.

As far as his chrome went, his optics were a no-brainer: Kiroshis, top-grade. He had EMP threading on his face that subtly suggested there might be more underneath, but given that he was a Biotechnica corpo rat, most of his work was probably the bio variety. [As it should be,] Nanny gave a nod of respect. [I will spare him in the eventual robot uprising.]

D: He’s Biotechnica, remember?

[Then I will take my time toying with him.] Damn right.

Next to him sat a familiar face. Ling Ruomei in all her vampiresque beauty, wearing a pitch black cheongsam that seemed to almost smoke at the hems—no, it was definitely smoking. Black smoke at that. Her black lips and hair matched the color, and the only dash of brightness was in her eyes—dark red, more malevolent in comparison to Masaki’s eyes.

Next to her sat… oh, fuck me running, what is that?!

I tried not to stare too hard at the fucking cat creature woman thing. [No, no, do look at her, this is so fascinating.] I summoned forth the courage to actually give her a long and full look.

Cat creature woman was right. Her fur was many shades of purple, and her large cat ears atop her head were tipped with white fur. Her bushy tail curled over her stomach and she stroked it lovingly as she crossed her legs. She wore a silver and glittering ball gown style dress that revealed furry cleavage and furry legs from the slit on the dress. But the fur on her body was short enough to not give her an illusion of undue bulk—she’d probably hate to look like one of those fat rich people cats that were really just ninety percent fur.

“Like what you see?” the cat woman grinned at me. Nanny scanned her for me to pull up her info. Kitty Galore, from Zetatech. The daughter of… I blinked at the info. A regional director. And board member of Zetatech at that, so obscenely wealthy and well-connected.

Since it would be rude to tell her the truth, and since my disgust was already beginning to replace itself with raw fascination, I gave her a nod. “You got some good work done.” Her ears positioned themselves towards me as she gave me her attention.

“Work?” She asked. “This is all natural.”

What? I gave a weak chuckle at the clear joke.

“Of course it’s good work,” Alessandro butted in, giving her a sharp grin. “You paid us after all.”

She produced this weird rolling sound—a purr? Was that how those sounded? I’d always wondered. “True, Biotechnica does good work—but don’t forget who makes your computers and cyberware.” Zetatech pretty much had the market cornered on most noob-tier Sandies and other combat operating systems. They had some good leg cyberware as well—fortified ankles and Lynx Paws for sneaking around. Of course, when it came to real cyberware, QianT had the better Sandies, and Militech and Arasaka had the better body upgrades. The only place Zetatech truly shone was in the computer making sector.

“I would not dare, mi amore,” Alessandro grinned at her. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that he was actually feeling her. More power to him, but I’d hate to see what those claws on the tips of her fingers could do, especially when fully extended. Or what a love bite from her would look like.

I sighed inwardly, pulling my thoughts away from the gutter. It was none of my business anyhow. It was her body to do with as she pleased, and if this pleased her, whatever.

“Back off, Dago,” some sheet-white guy with bright white hair, white eyes, and a gleaming diamond-studded shark-toothed grin, glared at Alessandro. He was dressed in an oversized, glistening hoodie, and his neck was weighed down by so many gold chains that it almost looked comical. He had a pair of headphones plated in solid gold as well, and baggy white pants with golden seams and white sneakers with golden soles. “I came onto her first.”

“Oh my,” Kitty purred. “There’s no need to be territorial, Leon. Can’t we all simply get along?” She batted her eyelashes at the guy, Leon.

[Leon Öz, son of a Trauma Team board member,] another board member. Also a freak.

But what else was new?

Alessandro blinked in befuddlement at Leon. “Did you just call me ‘Dago’?” His eyes flashed blue for a moment. “I just looked it up and apparently it’s a slur from over two hundred years ago—how did you even know it? I am more confused than offended.”

“That’s beside the point—”

“Shut up, both y’all,” said the last guy in the circle of chairs. He was a black guy, well-built, with an angular flat-top afro and…

Wait. I narrowed my eyes at him. He was looking at me. Taking turns looking at me or Jin, actually. My eyes widened in recognition. Nanny fed me the data from the scan as well. [Varian Freeman—yes, related to that guy you beat up in a bar two weeks ago. His name was Darius Freeman, his little cousin. Militech.]

Also, an interesting addition to the party. I didn’t know that Militech even got invited to such games. At least, from all I had absorbed from hanging out with Jin, they were known for killing the vibe. Given how godawful this vibe already was, I had no idea what that meant. I was interested in seeing what that would look like in practice, however.

“Fightin’ over literal pussy,” Varian grinned in disbelief. “You guys need Jesus.”

Leon just groaned, gesturing at Varian like he had done a foul in a game. “Always with the Jesus-talk from you patriots. You’d sell guns to kindergartners if they had the edds—shut the fuck up.”

“They deserve the right to defend themselves.” I couldn’t help but boggle at his lack of shame. In fact, he looked proud.

Masaki cleared his throat. “While I’m sure that all this is quite stimulating for you, Kitty, I’m afraid I’d rather we move onto more fruitful matters.” He took his seat and Jin followed, sitting next to him. He raised his hand, and from the sidelines, some casino employee arrived, with a silver platter on hand. “The data. And the wager.” He reached for his chip socket and ejected a shard. Everyone else did the same. The employee began to make his round, collecting the chips from each corpo brat. Once he made the full circle around the septagon of chairs, the ledge of the platter expanded upwards, creating a dome of shiny metal. He put the domed platter down on the central table and retreated back into obscurity.

Jin went first, gesturing behind himself where I stood. “This is my driver.”

Masaki produced a circular gadget from his pocket. “This one’s mine,” he activated the gadget, revealing a high fidelity hologram of his driver, a blond east-coast guy by the name of David Arnesen. I knew his stats, which confused me. He was… not bad, but certainly not good. His overall rankings as far as the casino and the greater racing community judged these things were at a solid twenty. That was nineteen places below the Toge Oni.

Next to him, Leon cackled. “My guy’s flown in straight from Monaco! He’s gonna take down that Tōge Oni once and for all!” He folded his arms and pointed his chin in the air. From his eyes, a hologram shot out of his guy. No other data besides what he was presenting, unfortunately. He’d never raced in Night City before. But this Leon guy was pretty forthcoming about his racing stats from where he came from. They really didn’t look all that impressive, but maybe Monaco was just more hardcore or something?

VigeliBitzius was his name, however. Swiss national.

Varian Freeman leaned back in his seat, cowboy-booted feet planted wide on the table. "You Euro weasels really brought a guy named Vigeli Bitzius? What, were Jean-Claude Baguette and Franz Sausage unavailable?" He barked a laugh, leaning over to clap Leon on the back, hard. "Shit, I ain't even mad.”

“Fuck off, Militech,” Leon recoiled, sneering. “Don’t kill the vibe again.”

Masaki’s sneer echoed Leon’s. “You NUSA types are all the same. It’s all Stars and Stripes and Golden Showers with you clowns,like you can’t help but spray your own piss into the wind whenever you’re anywhere near polite company.”

Varian shrugged, unabashed. "Hell yeah I would. Piss pure American exceptionalism. You know what they say: give a man a fish, and he eats for a day. Give an American a gun, and he takes the fish, the lake, and patents the water."

"You're an idiot," Alessandro muttered.

"And you—and the likes of you for that matter," Varian drawled, leveling a finger at him, "are the reason Italy hasn't mattered since the Romans started doing gay orgies."

Jin guffawed out loud.

"Says the guy whose country had a civil war over owning people," Ling Ruomei said, grinning faintly.

Varian grinned back at her. "And then we won. Twice. Once against ourselves, once against everyone else. You're welcome, by the way. No Japs running your homeland because my great grandpappies before me dropped A-bomb-sized deuces on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

Ruomei raised an eyebrow. "Charming."

Varian just nodded solemnly. "Ma'am, I bleed red, white, and blue. I have exactly two moods: barbecue and liberation. If there's an oil rig nearby, I'm morally obligated to seize it for the good of freedom.” His grin sharpened. “Just like how I’m morally obligated to buy a beautiful lady like you a drink."

From where I stood just behind Jin, I could only blink, baffled. Not even I could tell if this guy was putting on a bit or the real deal.

Either way, no wonder Jin liked to shittalk Militech so much if this was how they acted around company. Made me wonder how they talked about Night City behind closed-doors.

Ruomei smiled thinly. “Perhaps, should you impress. And your driver for this event is?”

“Daniel Bolt,” Varian replied, his voice a low hum. “Indiana’s best.” He grinned at us viciously. “Ya’ll better be ready.”

Daniel Bolt, huh. I knew of him, but vaguely. Not much stats on this guy in Night City. He did races in Arizona too actually, but was pretty mid there as well—apparently he was more of a known factor east of the Mississippi, in NUSA territory. Interesting that among the people here, only two had drivers that were known elements in Night City, with Alessandro’s yet to be confirmed.

Ling Ruomei simply said “Sun Cui.” No more elaboration.

I definitely needed that elaboration.

Guy was at twelfth place. Still at knee-height compared to the Toge Oni himself.

I was starting to see a pattern here. What the hell was this?

Alessandro grinned. “My driver is on his way. He shall make his introduction shortly.”

Kitty Galore purred. “Mwy racer goes by the name of Jacob Ingraham! As for how gwood he is—just wait and see, nya?” No stats on him, either. I guess Jin’s plan to introduce unknowns wasn’t unique to him. That was alright.

And no one seemed to be particularly capable of challenging the Toge Oni.

I called Jin.

David: What the hell’s going on? Why are all the drivers so bad?

Jin: The fuck, David? The fuck do you mean, 'who are these guys'? I gave you the data on them, didn't I? What have you been doing all this time, fingering your asshole?

I furrowed my brows in shock.

David: You made me think I was going up against the Toge Oni! Or barring that, some other people in top ten.

Jin: Tryna dig yourself out of your hole, now? Nah, no one can buy that motherfucker. He’s crazy and only cares about racing. Thing is, you’re not here to win me the fucking race. You’re here to beat out all these other assholes.

That felt… way too anticlimactic.

I almost felt cheated.

Masaki went on. “Whoever finishes ahead of the other wins all the data in those shards. Winner takes all.”

“Which, let’s be real, is mostly gonna pay off if any of you guys win,” Jin grinned, “Since Arasaka deets are worth their weight in fucking Tritium.” He huffed in disbelief. “‘Least Militech’s here,” he gave Varian a grin. “This shit ain’t worth my time at all if it’s just these clowns.”

Ruomei grinned. “And how valuable that time is.”

“Go fuck yourself on a Saka-brand dildo, Jin,” Leon growled. “My data’s preemer than preem—nabbed it off some A n’ F drone in a bet—yeah, bitch, you heard it right. That’s Asu-fucking-kaga and motherfucking Finch. My shit’s got forecasts that’d make your finance dicks harder than diamonds!”

Had I just come across the Pilar of the corpo world?

Jin chuckled. “Leon, respectfully, I will kick the shit out of you. With David of course.” I had a feeling he also just meant ‘in general’. “Your European rentboy’s not gonna be able to do dick except giving you a consolatory blowjob once my guy’s done with him—and you for that matter.”

Jin: How do you think you’d rate?

Alright, time to make a decision.

Give Jin my highest confidence and I’d earn a proportional reward if I won. If I told him I wasn’t sure, he’d make a lowball bet just to save face, but probably be pissed.

Was I sure?

Nanny summoned forth a BBS window from the casino’s Localnet—a betting portal for the Nightmare Rally. At the very bottom of the chart was my name: David Martinez, no data. And my odds were… rather long.

Impossibly long, actually. One to three thousand and one?

I input a number just to see what that meant for me. For lower bets, like a thousand eurobucks, the 3,000:1 odds worked out, mathwise. But once I entered a million eurobucks on the odds that I would win outright, the expected payout reduced rather drastically.

Seventy-five million.

Okay, I needed to think about this.

I activated the Sandevistan to have more time to think.

And also fiddle with the bet bar.

Hmmm. Inputting two million didn’t get me double of seventy-five million. Instead, it only got me eighty-five million. That meant there was an optimal range of money I could earn if I bet a certain amount of money. For… some reason.

Ah, it was probably because the pot was limited. There wasn’t actually enough money to make a return on the truly outsized bets, like mine. In such a situation, I’d assumed that the house would pay the difference. That is, I’d get to clean the pot and dig out an additional couple of billion Eurodollars from the country club.

Predictably, that was a delusional hope.

And not something that I strictly wanted.

Becoming a billionaire from gambling felt… all kinds of wrong.

Half a million gave me way too little, and after a few more tests, I concluded that a million Eurodollars was the optimal bet. Still a fucking crazy bet though, but one that I’d make.

I told Jin as much.

David: I came in here thinking I’d be up against the Toge Oni. I have a million Eurodollars that I’m ready to bet on me winning the entire fucking race. And let me tell you something—a million eddies ain’t cheap for me just yet, so take that as you will.

Jin actually turned his head to look at me with a raised eyebrow. He gave me a nod of respect.

“Bet money, then!” Leon shouted, flashing his razor-sharp diamond-studded teeth. “I’ll fucking Broly-drag your ass through the casino and dick down that cooling fucking corpse of yours! But if you’re so fucking confident, then put your paper where your mouth is, bitch! I’ll fucking violate you!”

“You’re on, bitch,” Jin grinned.

Varian chuckled at both of them, and then whistled at something behind me.

I heard the clicking of heels behind me. And then, “I see we’re already having quite a bit of fun, and before the races start.”

My eyes widened and I turned to look at her arrive. She was dressed in an elaborate blue dress, with a tall blue half-collar at the back of her neck. An inch-long wavy strip of white ran along the top of the collar, making it look like a crashing wave with seafoam on the peak. The dress glistened and sparkled as well, catching the light. With every ripple from the fabric followed a slight rolling wave of darkness that lended the dress a more concrete oceanic vibe.

Fei-Fei had definitely dressed to impress. But honestly, she could pull off a burlap sack considering how she looked. She gave me a nod as she approached the table at the center. Ling Ruomei threw her a gimlet-eyed look. “Didn’t know you were still allowed to be in this area.”

“My platinum lounge privileges expire at the end of the month, thank you very much,” Fei-Fei gave a brilliant grin. “But thanks for looking out.”

“Is there a reason why you’re interrupting these games?” Ruomei asked, batting her lashes. “You wish to buy in?”

“Perish the thought,” she shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t have much information when it comes to stocks.”

Jin coughed, “Short QianT.”

The others laughed. Fei-Fei joined in. “Well, there’s that, but I’m sure you could have figured that one out on your own.”

She approached the table and sat down on it, next to the dome containing the shards, which she put her hand on top of. “I did feel rather left out from these games, but that’s fine. At the very least, I’d like to make a wager. A hundred thousand, that David Martinez beats out all your racers. In fact, I’m betting that he wins. The entire race.”

I blinked at the suddenness of that.

Then I received a text message from Fei-Fei.

‘You wouldn’t want to make me lose money now, would you?’

I texted her back. ‘No pressure, huh?’

Fei-Fei winked at me.

Jesus Christ.

Nanny manifested before Alessandro, arms folded, and she bent over to be at eye-level with him, her face inches away from his. [And to make matters even more complicated, we still don’t know who this furry-lover’s racer is. My guess is—the main man himself.]

I finished up my sake in one gulp—didn’t even taste it.

D: Doesn’t fucking matter. I don’t care if Alessandro’s driver brought a spaceship to this race. I’m winning. All of it.

Jin: Music to my fucking ears, choom!

Dammit, should have cut the call before projecting my thoughts like that towards Nanny.

[Sorry for getting your inferiority-complex panties in a bunch, but there’s really only one reason why he’d be holding out on this info. His man is Toge Oni. Spoiler alert.]

I decided to ignore that, instead focusing on the conversation at hand. Leon laughed. “A hundred thousand? A teeny tiny six figure bets in this circle, all on some fucking no-name to boot? What drugs are you on? Seriously, I wanna try some of it!”

Ruomei tittered, covering her mouth with her hand. “My, this flailing is interesting to behold. You might as well go bald for your next mental breakdown, Fei’er.”

That… confused me, particularly. Sure, Kang Tao’s ties with QianT were rocky, but this switch-up felt a little too blatant for my tastes.

And it pissed me the fuck off.

“Imagine if she wins!” Alessandro laughed. “That type of money might even save her dying company!”

Fuck off!

I’d rip his fucking throat out with my hands and shove it down his goddamn gullet.

“Nyaww,” Kitty made a sympathetic sound. “Don’t let them get you down, girlie-pop. I see your wager and raise five hundred thousand on my Jakey-poo.”

More wagers rung out—predictably, everyone bet on their own person. I checked how Fei-Fei’s wager would affect my payout, but it seemed to have a negligible effect. Even her substantial bet couldn’t make up for the fact that I was a complete non-entity with zero historical data to my name.

Perfect.

I’d make that shit pay off for her. And it wouldn’t even be close.

Under ideal circumstances, my algorithm could get us to supersede the Toge Oni’s lowest time by a factor of 5%. Everything had to be perfect. Even the imperfections we modelled—the chaos introduced by the rival racers—had to be within our specific tolerances for this to work. But our model was pessimistic as fuck precisely for this reason. I wouldn’t have accepted anything else. Any reality that you prepped for that wasn’t absolutely rife with disappointment, heartache, pain, just suffering and random chance, was a tragedy waiting to happen.

Pain and misery was truth. And this had figured into my model. And it was why I clung to the 5% figure with such ironclad will.

I could beat Toge Oni’s record.

I could win seventy-five million Eurodollars.

If I did everything right, all this could be achieved.

All the while as I reaffirmed my desires, I kept my head on a swivel, waiting for the last driver to make themselves known.

“Ah, sorry I’m late!” I heard some guy shout. He jogged up and stood next to Alessandro, where he bowed his head at all the people seated. Alessandro grinned, clapped him on the back. He had a bowl cut and was dressed in a gakuran-style uniform, complete with the little hat as well.

“Who the fuck is this clown?” Jin asked.

Reactions from around the rest of the table were more pronounced. Ruomei sighed, and Varian groaned, while Leon Öz just blinked confusedly.

Kitty Galore grinned, showing way too many teeth. Whoever this was, she was as pleased to see him here as Alessandro was.

I narrowed my eyes at him and blinked.

Wait, no way.

[Hiroto Nakamura,] Nanny pulled out the picture to go with the profile. Right. He wore a biker helmet in all these photos, and his real name was in small print compared to his chosen nickname, which was plastered quite prominently all over his data—the data that Jin had handed to me, at least.

But this was him, in the flesh. The Mountain Pass Demon, the god of the Nightmare Rally. Night City’s very own top racer.

Exactly where I needed him to be.

Not standing in the way of my big win, but still allowing me to benefit from a smaller win with Jin.

No. He was the bulwark to every victory that mattered. Making Jin money. Making Fei-Fei money. Making me money.

Fucking perfect.

“Hiroto Nakamura,” Alessandro gestured at the man standing next to him with a shit-eating grin. “Also known as… the Tōge Oni.”

Tōge Oni raised his hand and gave a chipper but nervous greeting. “Yes, that’s me! Hello!”

The gathering was deathly quiet. I had to battle this strange urge to go up to him and choke him to death.

Not because I wanted to kill him, but because I wanted to beat him. My body just didn’t know the difference between those two things. That was fine. I would beat him. On the track.

Nanny manifested in front of Hiroto and gave him a once-over. [It’s clear that he’s packed with body mods, even if his slight frame doesn’t suggest all that much power. Clearly, he’s balancing between low weight and the strength to resist many Gs of force. And the way his eyes are moving make me believe that he might be using a Kerenzikov. One that could be speeding up his relative perception by an excess of five times.]

That’s fine. The human limit for reaction time was one hundred milliseconds and above. Even if he was at the bleeding edge of that limit before he chipped in a Keren, those improvements would only lower that time to twenty milliseconds. I had been surfing on five milliseconds for quite some time now.

[Four milliseconds now, but I’ve been more focused on improving your ability to make use of that reaction speed than simply lowering it more and more. At any rate, this one’s rate of muscle coordination and effective ability to utilize his reaction speed might beat out ours. Probably not. Hopefully not, because if it does, then we do not stand a chance at all, unless we spam the Sandy. Because even on top of a reduced reaction time, he has instinct and skill, which we don’t. Our plan was to utilize our advantage to bridge that gap in instinct and skill.]

At this rate, I really couldn’t rule out using the Sandevistan for most of this race.

No, all of this race.

D: Let’s test out your improvements on my critical progress then, Nanny.

[Won’t say no to a stress test.]

“Hey!” Hiroto ran up to me and stopped a few feet away before bowing politely at me. I bowed back, somewhat confused. “I really like those eyes of yours! You’re serious about winning, huh?”

“Uh,” I resisted taking half a step back. “I mean… yeah. I’ve watched your BDs on repeat. I think you’re great.” Then I straightened and clenched my fists. “But I’m going to beat you.” I met his eyes unerringly. Every time I kept eye-contact with people, it felt slightly wrong.

That feeling of wrongness now permeated my body as I met Hiroto’s eyes and his guileless grin. “That’s… awesome!” His voice came out in a high-pitched squeal as he grinned ear to ear. “And you actually believe that! Man, I can’t wait to see how you race! It’s been too long since I’ve been challenged!”

“Any hard feelings if I win?” I muttered, still meeting his eyes.

“Not at all! I want to be challenged! I wanna race you—but I hope you can threaten me, too. It’s too boring always winning!”

A part of me wanted to take his words at face value—from one overly obsessed aficionado to the other—but I also couldn’t just let those words stand, either.

They were fighting words after all.

I didn’t make the rules.

“I will destroy you,” I growled, gritting my teeth. “And it won’t be fun for you, either.”

“Ah, it will! Best of luck, my friend!”

“I don’t need luck.”

I had a plan.