Burnout (Cyberpunk Edgerunners x Malereader)

One - U-turn

It's been a quick second chooms, so here's the final part of the dedicated world building and connection chapters. Next chapter will be where the show starts, meaning more driving, shooting, and off the walls bullshit.

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It had been a week since I last heard from Maine. I guess out of courtesy, cause that stunt pulled me neck deep in a whole lotta shit.

Yelled at by my Dad for not quitting on the spot?

"Why the hell are you still working for them!? What about 1000 measly fuckin' eddies a day is worth that shit, hijo!?"

Expected that one.

Yelled at by my boss even though I was held at gunpoint?

"I know you were held at gunpoint, you little gonk. But couldn't you have driven in a way that DIDN'T RUIN THE COMPANY CAR!?"

Expected it the second I drove home.

Yelled at by David's mom, Gloria?

"Please stop doing risky things! Of all the gonks I scrape off the pavement I don't want you OR David becoming one of them!"

That one came out of left field. I had it coming for sure, just didn't expect it.

The past week had been lower paying too unfortunately. Being locked to the Arch while the company car was repaired sucked ass, cause it meant I could only deliver so much a day. I was forced to saddle myself with all the tiny packages if I even wanted a chance of making the same amount of scratch as before.

8 packages a day was the average now. Down from 20. To top it all off, my pay was getting docked too in order to fund the repairs. Stingy fuckin' bastards the lot of them. They know my ass is worth more than 25 eddies a stop.

But grumblin' and bitching would get me nowhere, and I was lucky I convinced my Dad to even allow me to run another delivery. So guess I gotta just slog it out, as per usual.

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To boot with all the other shit that happened, the customers were a bunch of dickwads to boot. I got spit on twice, had a baseball pitched at my chest, a wine bottle broken over my arms, and was shot at by an exceptionally pissed off old man. 7 deliveries for all that, and none of the fuckers even tipped me a 5.

Now comes my last delivery of the day. Only 8 deliveries total. Without tip, that added up into 200 measly fuckin' eddies. If this continued, I'd HAVE to call Maine if I wanted a chance at even paying for the gas in my ride.

Oh well, one last package. Done at 4pm. This one was addressed to someone named Kiwi. Sounds like a stripper name to me, but dealing with them's not new territory for me.

The apartment complex I was delivering to was huge. Even for Japantown, this thing stood well above most other buildings and housing complexes in the area. The giant neon pink letters spelled out 'Yaiba Tower' in a ritzy and borderline illegible font.

The thing easily rose over 30 stories, not that I would have taken the time to count them all anyway. I removed the small package from the saddlebag and locked the wheel on my Arch. After navigating my way through the bustling Japantown streets, I entered the atrium of the complex.