Cybergate 2027 - A Baldur's Gate 3 / Cyberpunk 2077 Crossover

XIV

As far as accommodations went, The Elfsong was on the lower scale of hotels. Being there felt like regressing twenty years back, when he was impoverished and dependent on the kindness of strangers. Astarion grimaced at the memories—'kindness' was a mask, worn over the desire to exploit him, often sexually. Cazador, too, loved the appearance of a philanthropist, but behind closed doors he was a veritable monster.

"You've come a long way, old chap," he whispered to himself, carrying his suitcase out of the elevator. The hotel was a stop on the way, not a permanent address. He'd regroup there and soon start a new life—away from Baldur City. Whether Shady wanted the same thing remained to be seen.

He checked the time—nearly half-past nine. Enough for her to get a good night's sleep, and he'd urged her to hurry, but perhaps punctuality was too much to expect from an influencer. Vhonthra was out, picking up 'stuff.' Astarion removed the horrendous clothes she gave him earlier and walked into the shower room, sorely craving a wash. His clothes, bloodstained from the night's activities, were at a dry cleaner that didn't ask unnecessary questions. They delivered Barcus and his magpistol to the clean-up crew—funny how easy it was to get rid of evidence. Vi suggested he hand over his suit too, but he really liked that one. After checking into the hotel at a late hour, he crashed on the bed and immediately fell asleep.

He switched on the telescreen before entering the shower, mostly to distract himself while the hot water cleansed all the stickiness and grime. An eloquent anchorman spoke about a major fundraiser that would take place that night, in which Councilman Enver Gortash planned to introduce a policing force called the Steel Watch. A notable endeavour for a politician, meaning Gortash must've held considerable clout among backroom donors. Had he been elected to the city council, pushing such a grand project could've built his entire career—assuming he got the right backers for it, of course.

The mental image made him grin. Power, respect, and admiration... But obtaining those meant associating with dirty individuals, giving them power over himself in the political pecking order. Why did he want that at all? To make his life mean something, or so he'd told himself before the encounter in Garry's apartment, but did that explanation hold, now that he'd escaped death multiple times in a few days? Maybe a long holiday would help clarify his feelings on the matter. Either way, he'd always have to worry about Shar catching up, and a public career would only increase that risk.

The doorbell cut his thoughts. He turned off the water and—peeking out of the shower room—switched the telescreen view to the front camera. Shadowheart was standing in the hallway, dressed in a grey hoodie, tapping her foot on the floor. Muffin sat in his carrier, staring through its bars with his tongue out. Astarion let them in with a chuckle.

"This place smells funny, you know?"

Oh, it was hard not to notice. "It's temporary, Shady. Did you sleep well?"

"I had weird dreams... nightmares, I guess."

"About what?"

"Doesn't matter. How about you?"

Dodging the subject... Well, that could wait. "Not bad, mostly because I was exhausted. Wulbren won't ever bother us again."

"So I heard." Muffin barked while she spoke, and she shut him up with a treat.

"And your memory—any improvement?"

"That's what the nightmares were about." She stuck her head in the shower room, took in the sight of his nude body, and smirked. "I saw us killing those Sharrans on the first night again. We were pretty hen-ku, eh?"

"Super cool," Astarion said, although he was terrified at the time. "That could've been a good video for your net profile."

"If it wouldn't get censored, there'd be a follower war about whether I faked it." She snickered. "Actually, that would've been a useful promotion."