Cyberpunk 2077: V

Chapter 38: Rite of Passage

For something that had been built out of nothing but old shipping containers and spite, the market was actually pretty decent. 

Neon signs, people peddling their wares, all the classic sights – there was even a directory shining from an old LCD screen mounted on a metal pillar just at the entrance. Ads everywhere, glowing on TV screens and screaming from speakers, inescapable even here. The faint sound of lazrpop thumped from somewhere. While there were some shady characters, it looked like a good deal of the clientele were dock workers. Most everyone else was either a shopkeep or someone down on their luck looking for cheap supplies.

V's boots crunched over trash as she made her way toward the directory to see what this place had. There was all the normal stuff – pharmaceuticals, cheap shards, clothes, food, etc. Nothing cosmic. No car parts. There was a place to buy iron, though.

V set off toward the iron shop, curious as to what the dock would be selling. She imagined that most of the weapons she'd find there would have mysteriously scratched-off serial numbers – a lot of contraband and stolen goods moved through places like this. The iron shop was open concept, a roof set on top of a few containers with posters on the outside and display cases on the inside. LOTS OF GUNS the place was called – got right to the point. V walked in under a sparking neon sign, looking to her left to see a bored man with big ears leaning against the cashier cage. He gave her an irritated glance as she walked up.

"Huh – judgin' by that glare, can't help thinkin' retail just ain't your hobby," V drawled as she stuffed her hands in her pockets. 

The man's glare turned into a bombastic side-eye.

"You wanna buy, buy," the man hissed. "You wanna talk – fuck off!"

V rolled her eyes. "Yeah yeah – you got .44 ammo?"

The begrudging salesman did have .44 ammo, and shotgun slugs. V bought a couple of cylinders' worth of the .44 and a small box of the slugs, stuffing them into her pockets. Then she wandered out of the shop to see what else was there.

To the left of the iron shop sat another pile of shipping containers with various stalls and junk stands, scrap and salvage laid out on tarps along with tenders who looked like they hadn't bathed in weeks. At the end of the little alley of peddlers sat a stairway that led up to a bright red container spray-painted with the word "PIEZ." A food joint, and more than likely the source of the smell V had scented earlier. Somewhere deeper in the market, she faintly heard someone playing one of those weird drum thingies, the music with the market chatter and sound of the waves making the place feel not too bad at all. Cozy, in the only way a place like this could. 

V made her way to the staircase and slowly climbed, looking out over the area as she got higher and higher. The stairs opened onto a makeshift deck filled with tables and chairs and covered by a loose overhang. There were a few people up there munching on pizza. V walked up to the cashier window, barred like the iron shop, but was surprised when a boy stood there staring at her. 

He looked young, maybe only ten years old or even younger, but his eyes were those of someone far older. V looked past the kid into the kitchen area, but she didn't see anyone else.

"There a problem?" the kid suddenly asked, pushing back the black beanie on his head in an effort to look tough. His grey eyes flashed as he pointed to a hand-drawn sign taped to part of the cashier cage with red duct tape. It read, "24 HOUR SURVEILLANCE – JUST FUCKIN' TRY IT."

"No, no problem," V replied easily. "But, uh...aren't you a little young to be runnin' a business?"

The kid crossed his scrawny arms and scoffed. "Someone in the family's gotta be the scopwinner. I can count, I've got good hands, and I make decent pizza. All you need."