The motorcycle roars viciously beneath me: rage-burning heat competing with the cold blast of air whipping around me. My hair blows furiously as I ride. Pavement passing beneath. A blur of shattered lights, shattered in wet rain. Night City rages like the raging of my wheels. I feel its wounds digging into the flesh. The smell of gunfire still burns my nose. I can still see those gonks lying in the pools of blood I painted for them, their blood diluting in the rain. Fucking Fixers. Fucking gonks. Deal gone bad, and it's the Mercs who pay the price. It's the Mercs who must dodge and roll as bullets fly overhead, as red eyes zero in, as augmented fingers pull triggers screaming with one word only and that word is "death". My death. I need a rest. The quiet solace of a bed. The hastening escape of sleep. Night City - arms that embrace, but the slap and the rejection. … E9 … BD … E9 … 1C … Are you jacked in? Yes, of course. Security was a breeze. Like cutting through synth-butter. So what do you see? Gimme a sec. So? Damn! This is amazing! How so? It's just the most totally realized virtual construct I've ever seen. I feel as if this is a living, breathing world. But is it fun? Is it ever?! I can't imagine wanting to jack out. The people. The places. The stories. Everything. It boggles; it truly boggles. Any abnormalities? Sure. Aren't there always? There're a few cracks in the code. A few jitters. But they aren't so bad. I'm sure with time these kinks will vanish. Listen. We gotta go. Final thoughts, choom? Final thoughts? How can I put them into words? I've been dreaming about a construct like this since I was a young 'un. And I just salivate anticipating all that is sure to come. Love it, choom. Absolutely love it. … BD … 1C … E9 … 1C … A tiny silhouette as a man on a bike vanishes upon innumerable neon-lit streets. Skyscrapers rising into the night sky. Stories waiting to be told; memories to be made. Blood, rain, and Night City.
