Friday Night Firefight - A Cyberpunk 2077 Isekai

Friday Night Firefight - Chapter 58

I stared out of the dirty window, trying figure out where all the stains had come from, and doing my best to block out the moaning coming from upstairs. It was this loud, drawn-out noise that crawled under my skin and creeped me out. I didn't want to think about it. I just focused on the view outside, though that wasn't much better.

The cul-de-sac in Santo Domingo looked almost serene, but it was a lie. Four houses, all cut from the same corporate suburb mold, were lined up in a neat little half-circle. They all sported the same flat, tired-looking lawns and the same chipped paint on the shudders. Even the cracks in the driveways seemed identical. It was like the place was Night City's attempt at a west-cost suburban utopia, but its time was long past. There was no hiding the shit that was Santo Domingo. It was just another garbage corner of a city, no matter how hard it tried to hide behind white picket fences and flamingo lawn ornaments.

The room behind me was no better. It had the feel of a place that had been lived in too long and cleaned too little. Clothes were draped over the back of the couch, a few plates stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, and a layer of dust covered the surfaces like it had settled down for the long haul. The place had long since stopped trying to impress anyone, and honestly, I kind of liked it that way. There was a comfort in the mess. It meant I didn't have to tiptoe around or pretend I was living in some pristine world.

My throat felt dry, so I peeled myself away from the window and headed for the kitchen. The cupboards were in their own state of disarray – open doors, half-empty bags, and a collection of mismatched mugs and plates crammed inside. I rummaged through them, pushing aside a bag of stale tortilla chips and some canned food until I found a glass. Plain, ordinary, and probably older than I was.

I walked over to the sink, turned on the tap, and waited for the water. It sputtered out, cloudy at first, before it finally ran clear. Ish. I filled the glance, ready to drink, but then stopped.

This city was a dystopian hellhole. How could I forget that? The water in this place probably passed through a dozen sketchy filtration systems, each one run by some faceless corpo that didn't give a damn about quality. Who knew what was actually coming out of the pipes?

I frowned, staring down at the glass like it had betrayed me, before dumping the water back into the sink and heading to the fridge instead, hoping there was something in there that didn't feel like such a gamble.

The door creaked as I opened it. Inside was the usual: some leftover pizza from Buck-a-Slice, a few sad takeout containers, and a bunch of stuff that probably should've been tossed a week ago. But then, sitting there on the middle shelf, like a tiny beacon of hope, was a can of Spunky Monkey.

I grabbed it without a second thought. The cold metal felt like a small win in a city full of losses. Sure, Spunky Monkey was a shit energy drink, but at least I knew what I was getting – caffeine, sugar, and a bit of a rush to get me through the next hour or so. I popped the tab, took a long sip, and let the "lemon-green" sweetener slap the hell out of my tastebuds.

I wandered back to the window, noticed the moaning upstairs was finally finished, and took a breath to ready myself.

Outside, the cul-de-sac was a mess. A handful of cars sat on blocks, their tires stripped and stacked in a sad little pile. What used to be someone's suburban dream neighborhood had turned into a chop shop right out in the open. Zion was out there, struggling with a gas can full of chooh2, dragging it across the cracked pavement. I could see the weight of it, and the strain it put on him. He was still banged up from the night market raid, his wounds barely closed, and here he was pushing himself again.

I shook my head, but didn't step in. I figured someone would help him out soon enough. I couldn't really blame him for wanting to get back in the fight.