The cold brittle morning returns like a broken record. The quiet stillness of air rests along side Brian laid facedown in his own cold and drying blood. After a deep, strained cough and inhale, he rolls over onto his side to face his father's chair; Empty. He gently rolls again onto his back and stares up at the withered and decaying ceiling as the pain settles in. His eyes bloodshot... his face cut up and bruised... he glances down at his chest to see a piece of paper on it. He grabs the paper causing it cut his chest from the staple being pulled out...
The front reads: R.E.O.
He crumples the paper without reading it and drops it to his side. Still staring up at the wrecked ceiling, he takes another strained deep breath before sitting up.
Brian walks outside onto his wrecked porch, cigarette in mouth. A break in the clouds allows the sun to beam down on his tender face kissing and hugging his open lacerations and bruises. He lights his smoke and takes a glance up the street to see kids collecting bullet casings and throwing debris at the badges securing last night's crime scene. It gives him a painful grin that splits open a cut on his lip a bit more. He takes inventory of his damage... ringing headache... blunt force trauma scattered across his arms and torso... even a man as tall and burly as he is can be broken down with ease when lacking the right chrome. Night City never has a problem reminding you where you stand on the food chain. Those who tend to forget or refuse it.. are either made an example of at worst... or at best... become just another tale for the next dreamer.
As Brian smokes and looks on, he notices there are more than just badges securing the crime scene. Various suits and private security also littered the area. Drones floated above scanning various buildings, debris and areas around the crushed T 66 Avenger. Neighbors looked on as some were being questioned. He quickly realized the badges weren't the ones conducting this investigation at all. Halfway done with his smoke, he leaves his front porch in the opposite direction... walking painfully... but with purpose.
The idle beeps, buzzes, and hospital chatter fill the space as carts are wheeled by with half dead and groaning patients. The tattered, dirty environment reeks of morbid failure and dismay. It was as if the place was more morgue or mortuary than hospital.
"I had Mikey take the rest of the day off so you didn't have to deal with that gonk...sorry about your loss man."
"Thanks Graves." Brian responds.
"I also gotta tell ya, you've used up the last of the cred your mom had here with this one. You know she was a superstar here for us back in the day but..-"
"What do you mean last of the cred..?"
"B.. you know how R.E.O. is... heartless and sociopathic. And you know with all the medical support your dad had been getting over the past few years...well, it added it up."
"Added up huh..."
"To be completely honest with you.. its past added up... I had been doing your dad a solid for a while now... No one here knew... Now with patching you up as well as your cremation cost here, there's really nothin left i can do for you bud."
"I get it, i get it... thanks.." Brian turns around to walk away and gather his father's ashes but Graves stops him again.
"Hey, Brian, about that cred... well... I could really use your help on somethin."
Brian turns back around, "If its scraping viscera and smeared scop off the streets next to a flaming Supron then count me out choom.."
"I know you don't have a head for this man. I'm talking about something a bit more...lucrative."
"No." He responds condemningly
"Come on choomba.. this is easy scratch! Done this before. Just would be more chill if I had someone roll with me y'know? Whole neighborhood's heard by now you can take care of yourself out there! No viscera or scop either. Promise!"
A brief but apparent pause happens as Brian looks down at the messy and bloodstained hospital floor. The various events of an unforgettable day weighing heavy on his mind.
"Alright." Brian says reluctantly while continuing to look down at the floor.
"Preem! I'm gonna finish up a few things here, you can wait for me outside."
Brian looks up at graves walking away from him "You mean we're doing this right now..?"
"No better time THAN the now choomba!"
Graves goes back upstairs leaving Brian in the quiet front lobby. The loud obnoxious sound of the buzzer was unmistakable as it turned Brian's attention towards it. "Crematory Service" in bright neon lights atop a metal slabbed wall shakes and clunks out a heavy metal urn. "Enrique Varga" "Handle with care" written on a white label. Brian grabs his father's urn and just stares at it before closing his eyes.