Cyberpunk 2077: You Shall Never Have To Forgive Me Again

Ch. 3 Cruel

Panam's escapade as a solo merc had not been panning out the way she hoped it would.

Well, she hadn't really known what to expect, and it was a last minute decision she had made... not unlike most everything else she did.

But even so, to be blindsided by her own fixer and paired with a fucking Raffen Shiv of all people, who then juked her and klepped not only the merch they were transporting, but her own fucking Warhorse!? When she sees Nash's ugly mug she's gonna put a bullet through his big ass forehead. Or maybe she'll tie him up, hang him upside down like a cut of meat, and slice him up nice and slowly. And then put a bullet through his big ass forehead.

Maybe take a stylized selfie with his dead body and send it to Rogue, give her the message to not fuck with her again.

Choices, choices.

Panam let the familiar feeling of anger warm her, simmer a little longer. It was becoming a comforting blanket these days. The thought was a little disconcerting, but it was the only thing keeping her going.

Anger at Saul, at Rogue, at Nash, at Mitch and Scorpion for not assisting her on this gig - even though she knew they couldn't, really, with clan rules and such -, at the world.

I must have the worst luck on the whole goddamn planet. The Unluckiest Merc Alive. At least it's eye-catching.

Driving south along a dirt road leading to Rocky Ridge, Panam stole a glance at her passenger.

V was... interesting, to say the least. At first she came off as self-important, impatient, the sarcastic type. But when talking to Mitch and Scorpion, V looked completely different; she showed a real smile, a grin, when bantering with them. Her stress lines disappeared. Whatever was weighing over V seemed to evaporate as she appeared to lose herself in the easy back and forth.

Panam was self-aware enough to realize the hypocrisy of her thoughts. She was practically the queen of impatience and sarcasm.

But people were not one-dimensional beings, and mercs worth their salt had miles upon miles of walls around their emotions. A lot of people got killed for trusting the wrong person, for letting someone in only to have their trust betrayed and a knife suddenly stuck in their back. Nash being a prime example of this.

Since Panam's decision to leave the Aldecaldos, one that was made in a fit of rage and desperation for change, and rather than being outright shunned from the clan, her life had gone to shit. She had very little contact with the family and felt more than a little embarrassed at having to ask for help for her own fuck up.

She thought Night City was going to change everything. She thought she was gonna prove herself to be a great solo, prove that she can make it on her own. And while, yes, she was certainly capable enough to become a merc of the Afterlife in a short amount of time, and no one who knew her doubted her resourcefulness and shot with a sniper, it didn't seem to be enough. Night City had a way of humbling a person.

She hated it. Hated everything about it. Hated the suffocating enclosure of the skyscrapers, the constant traffic, the white noise of the crowds that littered the streets like rats. The random gunshots in the distance didn't bother her so much, that happened in the desert a lot. Hell, even the random screams at night didn't catch her off guard, so used to sleeping through the random night terrors the vets suffered with. But the air of Night City felt like it was always trying to suffocate her and bury her in it's streets along with every other merc in history who wanted to be a legend.

Panam missed the camp, her people. She missed all of it, badly. But...

Despite all this, despite how miserable she could feel herself becoming, she couldn't go running back to Saul. She refused. Had too much pride for that.