Rebecca leaned against the cracked wall of the half-collapsed building, her chin resting in the palm of her hand, her eyes glassy and unfocused. Hunger gnawed at her belly, and the nausea that came with it made her mood even fouler. She missed the little things—the vending machines back in Japan, the kind that spat out icy bottles of Coke with that sharp fizz that stung her tongue and throat.
What a shabby dump… she thought bitterly. Even the snacks lying around this ruin, the so-called McLee Beans and Plantains, were expired, their packages bloated with stale air. A joke of a meal.
"Mann! Mann!"
Her voice echoed in the empty halls just as her brother Pyrrha pushed his way through the rusty iron gate. He looked strangely content, as if Dogtown were some kind of playground. For Pyrrha, perhaps it was. The boy only cared about machines, tinkering with scraps until they looked like "inventions." Here, surrounded by piles of rusting tech, he could lose himself for hours.
By the fire sat Mann, their team leader, his broad frame bathed in the dull glow. Nearby was Dolio, silent as always. The flames were their only comfort, their only real source of warmth and light. The radio crackled on the ground beside them, still tuned to Body Temperature Radio.
"…so, get away…"
The sultry ballad floated through the air, a love song utterly unsuited for their current state. Rebecca scowled. Each lyric grated on her nerves, reminding her of everything she lacked—comfort, freedom, even something as simple as a fizzy drink.
"I told you not to go out," Mann said firmly without lifting his gaze from the flames. His tone carried the weight of authority, a warning carved from years of surviving Dogtown. "You can't guarantee the Hellhounds won't bite."
Pyrrha's shoulders hunched, his head lowering like a chastised child. He respected Mann, even feared him in a way. Mann wasn't just their leader—he was the one who kept them alive.
Rebecca, however, had far less patience. "Ah… Mann, are you going to make up your mind or not?" she snapped, her voice sharper than the crackling firewood. "Lin—" she caught herself, "William said the whole team has to agree. Otherwise, we'll be stuck here, and once we change our minds later, leaving Dogtown will be twice as troublesome."
Sasha, back in Night City, had already risked contacting a fixer for them. But right now? In the dead season? No one with half a brain would willingly step foot into Dogtown. Roads in and out were crawling with gangs, mercs, and opportunists. Even the NCPD barely bothered.
The thought of escape felt as absurd as it was dangerous. Another option crossed Rebecca's mind—a dark one. "Maybe we should just turn ourselves in," she muttered. "File a few dozen criminal records at the NCPD. If we're lucky, the Netherhounds will scoop us up."
Mann rubbed the back of his head, frowning. "Where the hell did this guy even come from? I'm more and more convinced William is owned by some corp."
Rebecca snorted. "How should I know? Plenty of people in Night City know our names. We can't just go up and ask everyone, 'Hey, you working for the Netherhounds or some corpo?'"
"I think Rebecca's right," Dolio finally spoke, her calm voice cutting through the tension. She rose from the fire, brushing dust from her clothes. "Mann, no matter who's backing this William, we can't rot here in Dogtown."
She paused, her eyes softening. "And Sasha's still out there, worrying about us."
That landed. Mann fell silent, staring into the flames as though they might offer answers. Finally, he muttered, "Fine. We'll talk to this William first."
Dolio nodded in agreement. "Besides, we were the ones who screwed them over first…"
Rebecca's lips twisted. "Looks like the Netherhounds are after him too." She clenched her fists. "Damn it! Seriously? And he had the nerve to yell at me! He's holding a grudge, I just know it…"
The memory of William's cold command to "get lost" echoed in her head. Her temper flared, but beneath the anger, she understood. Retaliation was the way of the street.
Pyrrha, ever the jittery one, pulled a magazine from his pack and slammed it into his gun. "If this guy sells us out, we're finished. Better to be ready."
Rebecca's eyes slid toward her shotgun, leaning against the wall. She didn't want to use it—not yet. But as a final warning? She'd do it without hesitation.
"Burn it all down, if we have to," she muttered.
Mann shot her a look. "Pyrrha, stay on guard. But when we talk, we're polite. Got it?" His voice hardened. "The last thing we need is William resenting us. That'll backfire quick."
Yet doubt remained. The contact Sasha gave them—was it truly William's? Or was it bait? After last time, betrayal wasn't just possible—it was expected.
The radio crackled again, and a cold voice cut through the static.
[Caller: Unknown]
Rebecca's head jerked up. She immediately shared the call with the group.
A voice came through, calm but firm. "I'm outside the Long Beach material yard. Do you still want to promise my boss?"
Dolio shook her head, signaling caution.
William continued, a sigh threading through his words. "Look, we can pay you. That's it. If not, then I'm hanging up. Be careful."
Rebecca bolted upright, desperation tearing down her defenses. She leaned out the window and screamed into the night.
"Wait! We'll pay you! Just tell me how much, damn it!"
Her voice echoed across the ruined yard. "Asshole, asshole, asshole!"
On the other end, William frowned, his patience thinning. This girl's too much…
"My boss said—work, money, freedom. Simple as that."
Silence fell over the group. Dolio and Mann exchanged glances. Why them? Of all the mercs in Night City—those seasoned killers in Afterlife, the chrome-stacked legends who lived on the knife's edge—why did William's mysterious boss want their ragtag crew?
They weren't legends. They weren't even close. Just poor part-timers with second-hand chrome, barely scraping by.
But William had done his homework. He didn't want slick, untouchable mercs from Laisheng Bar. He wanted something else—something simple.
And simplicity was what this team had in spades.
Still, William couldn't reveal the whole truth. He believed they were vulnerable, easy to bend, easy to use. What he didn't realize was that the team lacked one key player he feared: a hacker named Qi Wei. In his mind, guarding against her was his top priority. In reality, she didn't even exist among them.
William's tone shifted, firmer now. "Call her a jerk again, and I'll hang up."
Rebecca froze, wide-eyed. He was serious.
William smirked faintly. This Rebecca—so fiery, so unpredictable—wasn't she… adorable in her own reckless way?
"This is Mann," the leader finally spoke, his voice deep and even. "To be honest, we don't trust you. That's why Rebecca contacted you. I hope you understand."
"I'm not angry," William replied. "Here's my promise: go out, wait for work. When there's a job, my boss will call. Payment will be at market rate. Fair and square."
He paused, then added the hook. "And one more thing. If there's a mission, I'll go with you."
The firelight flickered across Mann's face as he processed those words. Too much freedom, too much trust—this William wasn't acting like a typical fixer. On Taiping Island, no middleman had this kind of backing.
Yet the offer was perfect. Almost too perfect.
If William joined them on missions, that meant if things went south, he'd bleed alongside them. That kind of assurance was priceless.
Mann's responsibility as leader weighed heavy. His crew was on the edge, and it was his duty to pull them back.
He nodded slowly. "William, you're good at this. I'll agree. I'll send you our location. But understand—we'll be cautious. We'll verify you first. No risks."
"Of course," William replied smoothly.
"William!" Rebecca's voice burst back onto the line, suddenly sweet, almost pitiful. "You have to come… I'm dying here. Just one sip of Coke, that's all I need…"
"Rebecca…" Dolio pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. "Stop it. Let's just wait." She ended the call with a sigh.
William stared at his commlink, his face darkening. What a headache that girl is.
He resumed walking, boots crunching on broken concrete as he headed toward the Long Beach yard.
On the way, he passed a crumbling shopping mall, long abandoned, its skeletal frame barely standing. Yet in the shadows, something caught his eye—a vending machine, battered, caked in dust and dried blood.
Its screen still glowed faintly.
"Xiao Ke… Coke… Love is on the tip of the tongue!"
The slogan flickered across the display, half-broken, half-cheerful.
William's lips curved upward. He pressed the button. With a mechanical clunk, a chilled bottle rolled into the tray.
He picked it up, wiped off the grime. The date stamped on the cap was recent—fresh stock, against all odds. He slipped it into his pocket, satisfaction warming him.
Rebecca wanted Coke, huh?
He chuckled softly. "Guess I'll reward her for once."
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