The sleek doors of the Type-66 Avenger hissed open with a mechanical sigh, bathing the North Oak driveway in golden neon from its under-chassis glow. David's eyes widened like a kid at his first braindance arcade.
"Choom... this thing looks like a Militech war tank dressed for prom," he muttered, running his hand reverently over the armored matte-black exterior laced with gold edges.
"Get in," M said, already slipping into the driver's seat.
David practically dove into the passenger side, eyes scanning the interface. Touchscreen displays, manual overrides, and a mounted weapons display disguised by civilian software. The scent inside was a mix of leather, gun oil, and ozone. Classy. Dangerous.
The silence that followed was heavy. M drove without a word, eyes on the road, focused and cold. The car whispered through the streets like a ghost.
David squirmed.
He waited a minute.
Two.
Three.
"So uh... you always this quiet? Or just when you're stuck with guys like me?"
M tapped his watch, and a soft chime rang in David's neural interface. A digital message popped up: 500 eddies deducted from Martinez, David. Monthly Pay.
David blinked. "Wait—WHAT? You can't do that!"
M didn't look away from the road. "Of course I can. I'm the boss."
David groaned, falling back in his seat like a deflated balloon. "Tyrant."
Silence returned. Five more minutes passed, broken only by the low hum of tires on ferrocrete.
Just when David opened his mouth again—
"Do you know why I don't talk to you?" M asked, still watching the road.
David blinked. "I mean... you're not exactly warm and fuzzy."
"First of all," M continued, "you're extremely annoying. Secondly, I'm tempering you."
David looked confused. "Tempering? Like... forging metal?"
"Exactly," M said. "A strong person doesn't speak to fill the silence. He commands silence. He's poised. Imposing. Confident. Even when he loses, you wouldn't know because he doesn't show it. That's strength of spirit. That's composure."
David frowned, folding his arms. "So this is like... stoic boot camp or something?"
M gave a cold smirk. "From now on, I'll take you places without telling you where. If you can learn to relax, even in the unknown—to clear your mind and trust your instincts—you'll begin to understand what it means to have steely nerves."
The rest of the ride was, predictably, quiet.
They parked outside Viktor's clinic—nestled as always in the bowels of Little China like a rusted gem. M led the way down the familiar stairs, David trailing behind.
Victor Vektor looked up from a workbench cluttered with cybernetic scraps. He raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I'll be damned. The Scavs' nightmare walks into my dive again."
M gave a nod. "He needs tuning."
Victor turned to David. "What are you packin', kid ? a Sandevistan?"
David blinked. "Uh. Yeah. Militech model."
"Sheesh. Your nerves should've fried like eggs on a chrome pan. Let me take a look."
David lay back as Victor rolled in on his stool, his optics flickering.
"Looks like the implant's fully synced to your neural interface. That means it's part of you now, kid. Yank it out, you're toast. You'll need some variant of a Sandy for life."
David flinched. "So I'm stuck with it?"
"Pretty much. But I can recalibrate it, optimize the output channels, and reduce strain."
M gave a nod. "Do it."
"Sure thing, big guy. Gimme an hour."
After the surgery, they returned to the mansion for a short rest. Then, as the sun began to dip over the skyline, M called everyone to the driveway.
Gloria looked better, walking with a cane now, but was stable. Ava was dressed elegantly in a wine-colored coat. David wore his usual streetwear, still unaware of what lay ahead.
A sleek Delamain AV pulled up, its digital voice chiming: Good evening, Mr. M. Your itinerary has been preloaded.
They stepped in. As always, David gawked.
"Sweet Jesus, this thing's got real leather?" he muttered.
"Don't drool on the seats," M said.
"Where are we headed this time?" David asked.
Then he caught himself. His eyes went wide. He slapped both hands over his mouth.
M smirked. Ava tried not to laugh.
"Too late for that," M said, tapping his watch.
500 eddies deducted from Martinez, David.
David wailed, "NOOOOO!"
Even Gloria giggled.
They landed at the Trauma Team HQ. The building gleamed like a temple of chrome and bio-plastic. Inside, M stepped up to the concierge.
"Three new policies. Black-tier. Full package."
The clerk nodded. "For yourself and the two women?"
"No, for the kid and the two ladies"
"Understood. Process will be completed within the hour."
David leaned over. "That stuff costs a fortune."
M answered without turning. "And?"
David shut up.
Next stop: the flagship branch of Jinguji.
While in the AV, M bought the three an Excelsior Delamain subscription for their movement.
The group reached their destination.
The women were like kids in a candy store. Ava tried on at least eight outfits—cyber-silk gowns, tailored jackets, gold-plated heels. Gloria was more modest, but M nodded at everything they chose.
David, however, didn't get to pick.
M walked him through racks of suits.
"Black. Navy blue accents. Tailored. Formal only."
"C'mon," David protested. "Lemme pick at least a hoodie or somethin'?"
M raised an eyebrow. "You want to look like a glorified street kid or a man on the rise?"
David grumbled but didn't argue further.
By the time they were done, the AV was weighed down with designer boxes.
Dinner was at Le Cauchemar, one of Night City's finest restaurants. They were seated in a private booth overlooking a digital koi pond. Ava and Gloria marveled at the food—real food, not synthetic.
David hesitated over his menu. "This stuff got real meat? Like... actual cow?"
"Eat," M ordered. "You'll need it."
David looked up. "Wait, what does that mean?"
M poured himself a glass of wine.
"Today was your grace period. You just had surgery."
He sipped.
"Tomorrow, training begins. And I promise you... it'll make hell look like a vacation."
David gulped.
Ava smiled sweetly. "Don't worry. We'll have ice packs ready."
Gloria chuckled. David slouched in his chair.
He had a feeling tomorrow would be the start of something brutal.
And maybe... something great.
To be continued...