The next morning, Lucy woke up in bed and instinctively pressed a palm to her abdomen.
The wound from last night was already treated. It didn't stop her from moving around, and even the scar wasn't a real problem—any back-alley clinic could erase it like it never happened.
Night City's cosmetic tech was disgusting like that: cheap, fast, and almost miraculous.
Still, Lucy looked drained.
Not because of pain.
Because she hadn't slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, James's face showed up—calm, sharp, smug in the worst possible way. The memory kept looping in her head until it turned into something else.
An emotion she couldn't name.
A thought she never used to allow.
What if she formed a permanent team with him?
The moment the idea appeared, it refused to leave.
Lucy rolled onto her side and pulled her pistol closer, the one she'd retrieved last night. Her fingers slid over the grip slowly, as if she could still feel James's warmth lingering there.
It made her feel… hot.
Not the normal kind of heat that a netrunner could cool down with proper thermal control.
This warmth came from somewhere deeper, where logic didn't work.
Lucy's hacking skills were solid—maybe not legendary, but good enough that plenty of crews had tried to recruit her. She rejected them all.
Trust didn't come easy. Not after what she'd been through.
But a netrunner without a stable crew was like a glass knife.
Sharp, useful… and easy to break.
Without backup, Lucy couldn't touch high-paying gigs. She survived on scraps from the dark web—jobs other netrunners ignored. Some days, she even stole data chips on the city rail just to get by.
What self-respecting netrunner lived like that?
It wasn't just humiliating.
It was dangerous.
If she let James slip away, she didn't know when she'd find someone else she could trust with her back.
She told herself it wasn't emotional.
It was practical.
She needed money. She needed a route to the moon.
With that excuse locked in place, Lucy finally found his name in her contacts and called.
She hugged her quilt, thighs pressed together without meaning to, nerves tightening in her chest.
This was her first time calling a guy.
Most of her calls were work. Cold. Clean.
After a moment, the call connected.
Lucy forced her tone to sound casual.
"What are you doing? Just woke up?"
"What else would I be doing?" James replied. "Working."
"Working on what?"
Lucy remembered his face last night, the way he fired like he was born with a gun in his hand. Her thoughts slipped—her thighs tightened again.
"Making pancakes. What else?"
The image in Lucy's mind shattered like glass.
"…If you've got something to say, say it fast. I'm busy."
Lucy froze.
"…Nothing."
She hung up—too quickly, too sharp—angry at herself more than him.
---
On the street, James's pancake stall was already running hot.
A small figure slammed her hands onto the counter and glared up at him with glowing red cyberware.
"Bro, I'm starving! Hurry up!"
"Almost done," James said, not even looking stressed.
Then he glanced at the woman beside Rebecca and asked casually, "Miss Cat, want one too?"
"Of course."
Sasha chewed bubblegum like she owned the street. Her lips always sat in a natural half-smile, friendly at first glance—but the visible modifications across her body screamed danger.
Short fluffy hair covered her ears. Two upward cybernetic marks on her cheeks gave her a sharp, feline edge.
Most people in Night City had never seen an animal that wasn't human.
But James said "Miss Cat" like it meant something real.
Sasha's eyes lit up.
Like someone had recognized her language.
"Extra spicy Cheetos?" James asked, looking at Rebecca.
"Put a LOT! I love spicy!"
Rebecca reached for the sauce bottle like a gremlin, but James was faster. Her hand snapped back with a sharp slap to her knuckles.
Only one person controlled the spice at this stall.
"Oh?" Rebecca leaned closer, bumping her elbow into his stomach. "Little brother, you're fast."
"Not bad."
James handed her the rolled pancake.
Food silenced Rebecca instantly.
She squatted on a nearby step, showing off her short, thick legs, took a bite, and immediately hissed from the spice—but still threw him a thumbs-up.
"It's seriously good."
James tossed her a bottle of iced soda.
Rebecca's eyes sparkled.
She loved that drink like it was a drug.
"I don't want extra spicy," Sasha said softly.
Her voice had that quiet, cat-scratch sweetness—gentle, but dangerous if you pushed too far.
"No problem," James said. "Yours will be ready in a sec."
He finished Sasha's pancake and handed it over.
Sasha ate neatly, calmly, like she was in a café, not on a street full of random violence.
When they left, James wasn't surprised.
Rebecca lived nearby.
And Sasha? She had the look of someone who knew Japantown well.
Different personalities. Same bond.
You could feel it even watching them walk away.
Morning business was strong. Over a hundred eurodollars.
In another world, that would be good money.
In Night City, it was still a joke.
James counted his earnings, ran the numbers, and felt his smile slowly die.
Damn it. I worked all morning… and it barely covers protection fees.
How is a decent person supposed to live in this city?
He kept thinking the same thing.
One nuclear bomb isn't enough.
"...You're really running a stall here."
Lucy appeared at the edge of the crowd, staring like she'd found a glitch in reality.
James didn't even look guilty. "What else? This is my main job."
Lucy blinked. She wasn't buying it.
After last night, she couldn't connect "pancake seller" with "cold shooter who erased Scavengers like practice targets."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then what's your side job?"
James thought for a second. "Servicing your pistol counts, right? Biggest single payout I've had in a while."
Lucy's annoyance flared. "Are you serious? Don't play dumb! Last night you weren't acting like a pancake guy!"
James snorted. "That was an act."
"An act?"
"Yeah." He grimaced. "You think that was easy? Heads exploding, brain mess everywhere—especially that naked freak. I almost threw up. I washed my hands half the night."
Lucy stared at him.
And for some reason… she believed him.
The tension in her chest loosened.
Without realizing it, she stepped closer. "So why endure it? Afraid I'd laugh at you?"
James looked offended. "With how pathetic you looked? I was supposed to fear you laughing?" He smirked. "It's a miracle I didn't laugh at you. I just didn't want to waste my cool entrance."
Lucy punched his arm.
Hard.
Then she laughed—an actual laugh, not her usual sharp-edged one.
"You're insane."
James watched her mood swing like a neon sign glitching. "So why are you here?"
Lucy's answer came fast.
She hooked his neck and pulled him in until their faces were a palm's distance apart, warm breath brushing skin.
A customer nearby blurted, "Boss, one—"
Lucy drew her pistol and aimed it without even looking.
The guy shut up, turned around, and vanished like smoke.
Lucy didn't break eye contact.
"Be my partner, James."
The words landed heavier than gunfire.
James's heart kicked once.
"Partner?" He forced a half-smile. "That doesn't sound like a good word."
"I'm not a good person," Lucy said bluntly.
James hesitated.
Not because he didn't want her.
He did.
He was human. He had eyes. He had blood.
But the future mattered.
Being an Edgerunner—being a "cyberpunk"—didn't end well for anyone.
There were no living legends in Night City.
Even V didn't escape the job clean.
"Let me think," James said.
Lucy's disappointment flickered, but she masked it instantly. She stepped back and scraped his cheek with a fingertip—half tease, half threat.
"Don't make me wait too long."
"I'll try," James said, avoiding her eyes, because she was too damn good at making his thoughts run south.
Lucy noticed the embarrassment anyway.
Her eyebrow lifted.
A sly curve pulled at her mouth.
Then she grabbed his wrist.
"Come on. We're going somewhere."
"Where? I've got business."
"What business?" Lucy said, already dragging him. "I booked you for half a day."
James was about to argue—
Then he saw the transfer.
1,000 eurodollars.
He instantly forgot his stall existed.
---
Lucy's apartment looked similar to James's—same cheap walls, same cramped layout.
But her bathroom tub was packed with half-melted ice.
James recognized it immediately.
That was how desperate netrunners cooled themselves for deep dives.
Lucy didn't use a netrunner chair not because she lacked resources…
But because she hated what it represented.
"What do you want me to see?" James asked.
Lucy shoved a heavy package into his hands.
The smell of blood hit immediately.
James looked at the shape and remembered Lucy chopping off the Scavenger's cybernetic arm last night.
"Are these implants?"
"The only valuables they had."
James's eyes narrowed. "Those are my spoils of war. You know I forgot to loot, right?"
"Fifty-fifty."
"Now you're speaking my language," James said, smiling.
Lucy had never sold implants directly before. She had buyer contacts on the dark web, but this city taught everyone the same lesson—
Don't go alone.
---
The "buyer" Lucy found turned out to be Scavengers.
Not a surprise.
A trap.
A netrunner getting caught by street trash felt like an insult carved into her pride.
After a burst of gunfire, James walked out carrying a pile of bloody cyberware and muttered, "We came to sell goods… how did we end up buying goods?"
"These idiots are poor," Lucy said, counting chips and cash. Not even three thousand euro.
That was normal. People like this lived for instant highs. Saving money only meant someone else would take it later.
Lucy crossed her arms, watching him. "Now you decide where to sell."
She wanted to see what "better buyer" he could find.
James gave her a smug little grin.
"Heh. We're going to Old Vik's."
Lucy blinked. "Who?"
James's eyes sharpened slightly.
"A ripperdoc who doesn't screw you over… unless you deserve it."