Chapter One

This is the City of Dreams, of Vice and Capital, the beating heart of a new era of Capitalism that decried the limitations of nation-states and sought to elevate Corporate-Feudalism to new heights of prestige and dominance.

This is where you were born, beneath the towers of liquid metal and glass, the detritus of society that was expended as fuel in the engines of commerce.

You had once heard your kind described as the lifeblood of Night City, but that was something you disagreed with; everything was expendable in NC; if you and yours did not do these menial labours that kept the city functioning, then it'd be some poor sap attracted by the spitz and glamour of those very same towers you were born under.

And like anything expendable, you came in abundance; one of five million other souls; if there was one thing that the City had in a lot, it was lives; unrealised potential and ambition that became stepping stones for others in a desperate scramble to the top.

That was the game you played, what everyone played, regardless of willingness; the store clerk and the gangster all suffered the same, taken advantage of by someone above them; it was merely a question of whether you were cognizant of the fact.

That cognisance was what distinguished you from your graduating class; most were filled with ambition if it was not educational; as lord forbid anyone educated was to attend your dumbfuck highschool, then it was streetwise; you doubt most of the poor sops you went to school with will survive the decade.

Most will die in a gang fight over something equally as banal as themselves, maybe shoes or a dropped wallet.

Being aware of your own utility and how expendable you were in the grand scheme of things is what distinguished you from your counterparts, to be very conscious about the fact that, no matter how hard you tried, how lucky your draw of the die was, you were going to get fucked, and fucked hard by the City; that self-awareness is what helped controlled that hormonal logic of yours.

"So that's how it's gonna be? You're selling out?"

Selling Out.

A loaded term, but one that was nonetheless true and to the point when describing what your intentions were.

It was spoken with such contempt, such scathing scorn and indignation, that even you had to pause to reassess the speaker, gazing at them with new eyes as you refocused upon the conversation rather than wax poetic thoughts about the state of Night City.

You meet her gaze with your own, her brown eyes running with heightened emotion, that healthy skin adorned with freckles, now flush pink, her blonde straw hair being pushed to the side by her neatly trimmed fingers.

"You're swimming against the current, Amanda; you can either move with it or drown."

Her beautiful hazelnut eyes narrow in contrition, your jaw clacking as it stiffens, and she struggles to find the words to rebuke your response; a hundred thoughts are going through her head at once, but none measure up to what she wishes to articulate.

"What about being Mercenaries? Didn't we use to talk about striking out on our own? We're a team!"

She appeals to memories and nostalgia of how you used to play in the hallways of your shared apartment block, pretending to be names accounted among such figures as Morgan Blackhand and Rogue Amendiares.

Infantile dreams and ambitions, ones that fade in the face of the dawning realisation all boys have, that they aren't as smart or talented as they thought they'd be, you're no Solo, the painful realisation that Amanda had long since eclipsed in those rare showings at the range, made that very clear.

"Get real, Mandy; it's never going to happen; we'll just be another pair of corpses littering some alleyway; all to suckle a few eddies."

It was a conversation you had been dreading; none looked kindly on the petty enforcers of the Neo-Feudalistic Corporations, the masses of sycophantic grunts who victimised their own kind for the scraps left at the table.

None more so than your childhood friend, and for a time; lover, she had been your first, as you had been hers, a tale as old as time, where familiarity bred comfort in the Darwinian streets of Night City.

In hindsight, it was always going to happen, the painful tearing apart of you and her, for your ambitions and beliefs ran counter to one another, and eventually, the two of you would have to face that.

How that would happen could have been done better, softer, and gently, but you were as headstrong as she was, and when you got an idea in your head, you weren't about to abandon it in the face of common sense.

Your clash with Amanda was an eventuality, not a possibility; it would always happen, for you two operated with different beliefs and mindsets.

However, the clash itself was something you regret, though your pride would never allow you to admit a mistake after such a heated argument.

Like many of Night City's underclass, she despised authority, and the Corporations that held sway over the Free City's affairs were the embodiment of everything she hated, the distant rulers and unfeeling machine that consumed everything and left nothing for the people.

The idea of working for them was anathema to your best friend; it was an unconscionable decision that would be laughed at or met with an emotional response if opined.

That her boyfriend, her best friend, the kid she spent most of her life around, was signing on with the Arasaka Corporation; well, there was no way to describe the subsequent fallout of her discovery adequately.

You haven't spoken to her since, more than a decade of friendship, burnt in a matter of minutes.

In the three years since that confrontation, there had always been a single thought that had gnawed at the corners of your thoughts, shelved in the deep recesses of your mind; and coming to the fore whenever most inopportune for you.

'Was it worth it?'

It was a question you had no satisfactory answer to.