Chapter 30

Hey, can someone tell me what the right answer is supposed to be?

Watching the lively joint party—a mix of the Edgerunners and Jackals meetup and Valley’s welcome bash—I couldn’t help but feel a little burnt out.

The day after I got the awful news that T-Bug had left Jackie, I found a girl missing limbs, struggling to survive. I helped her out, and later, she started calling herself V.

…Yeah, V.

If I hadn’t been riding the Delamain that day, I wouldn’t have noticed the NCPD case. When I found out later that it was someone who looked like Street V on the verge of death, I was seriously shaken.

Then, of course, Jackie had to go and drag Corpo V into this mess!

A washed-up guy named Vincent, of all things!

So I figured, if Street V was Valerie, then this one must be Victoria, right? Except then Nomad V shows up, and that’s the one who’s actually Valerie?!

This wasn’t just breaking from the original—this was a full-blown disaster. I thought about it, and thought about it, slept on it, then came back with a clear head and decided:

I’d take the Dexposition route and steer things back toward the original flavor.

The biggest problem was undeniably Johnny. Worst case, I figured, maybe one of the V’s would take him in—half-giving up on the idea already.

I even considered stuffing him into myself and going the temperance route, but let’s be real—me, who’s more corpo than most corpos, getting along with Johnny? Doubtful.

The only saving grace was that Dad’s hidden chip turned out to be the Relic schematics, meaning I could at least extend their lifespans with aftercare.

That’s why I went all out supporting Jackie and gathering the V’s in the first place.

If I got their bio-maps and full-body scan data under the guise of health checkups, I could replace the cells transformed by Johnny and treat them.

Since there was a scene in the Devil ending where V survived even after the Relic was extracted, as long as Johnny was gone, removal was probably safe.

"...Maybe I should just disappear here and now?"

If I threw myself into the unknown and left everything to chance, I could probably escape this future-sight-induced torment.

…But I’d already gotten too involved for that.

If I did that, Victoria would definitely break.

…Actually, she might already be broken. And who knows what kind of messed-up direction she’d spiral in.

Plus, I’d already gone and pulled that "Do you want power?" event on a whim.

I mean, come on—after hearing her story, she was basically a Spider-Man without spider powers!

Since I couldn’t exactly get my hands on a weird radioactive spider, I went the Batman route instead and gifted her a new pair of arms and legs.

…Military-grade prototype gorilla arms and modified mantis blades, to be exact.

Turns out she had a natural aptitude for them, so why not hook her up?

Later, when she ditched the name Victoria and started going by V, a lot of things clicked into place.

Of course a V who maxed out her physical stats could handle it—yet another reminder of just how insane our original protagonist really was.

"Jugra-saaan! What’cha wanna eat?"

"...The salami-spiced one."

"Roger that!"

There wasn’t much edible in this city, but pizza had somehow survived and was actually pretty good.

Dried goods and preserved stuff like cheese were stable imports, so pizza—the biggest beneficiary—was a Night City staple.

Apparently, pizza parties had replaced barbecues as the trend, hence the tower of pizza boxes at our bash.

I took a bite of the slice Victoria happily brought over, chewed, then washed it down with NiCola.

The dough was probably made from crap flour, given how tough it was to swallow.

Honestly, it was a battle of the least-bad options, but some were at least tolerable versus "I’d rather not."

With the cash I made from Delamain Medical Services, I wanted to fund expeditions into non-thermonuclear zones and scout for natural food sources.

If I could find something easy to cultivate, like potatoes, that’d be a win—but this was a gamble that’d take time.

Once Faraday-kun (who totally gave off slum vibes) sent over his draft for a poverty relief plan, things were gonna get busy.

"Still… who knew mystery meat was actually worms?"

Thanks to acquiring BioTechnica Flats—those vinyl greenhouses from Nomad V’s route in the southern Badlands—I’d learned things I wished I hadn’t.

Turns out they were Single-Cell Organic Protein (SCOP) production lines. After buying the place and seeing inside… Ugh, I don’t even wanna remember.

Not being from a culture that ate locusts or grasshoppers, the idea of bug cuisine really didn’t sit right with me. I swore then and there to be way more careful about what I ate.

Seems they only produced for Night City’s supply chain, with big food corps as their main clients.

…Real meat—well, technically, yeah, it was meat. From living things.

If I ever heard "70% real meat!" again, I’d probably have flashbacks.

But the scars of the Third Corporate War ran deep. Thermonuclear contamination had left the Badlands’ soil barren.

Decontamination took too long and cost too much, so worm farming became the go-to substitute. Not hard to see why.

"...Did the Third Corporate War go too hard???"

War’s evil. Gotta wipe it out.

Guess I’ll have to set up a Delamain Farm. Low-cost worms, low-cost cultivation, low-cost distribution—profit was guaranteed.

And with that profit, I’d fund searches for uncontaminated land. Please let there be potatoes left. Seriously.

"...Well, don’t count your chickens. Gotta develop artificial soil… Ugh, so much to do."

Pretty sure all I needed was the right chemical fertilizer for cultivation.

Which means… Ohhh, so that’s why Arasaka looked to space, to the moon.

If Earth didn’t have it, just mine it from another planet.

Night City runs on CHOOH2, the biofuel BioTechnica developed. If they’d kept the license, I wouldn’t have bothered crushing them.

But since Petrochem and other oil giants hold the rights now, torching BioTechnica’s Night City branch changes nothing.

Delamain’s "machine swarm" strategy can handle what BioTechnica did anyway, so no immediate fallout.

"...Wait, no—Delamain’s splitting, isn’t it?"

Not viruses, not hacking—Delamains just split sometimes.

There’s a whole mission chain about it, with choices: destroy, merge, or liberate.

…Hold up. What if I sent them to scout undeveloped regions?

Pretty sure liberated Delamains emailed me pics from overseas before.

Hell, maybe I should encourage the splitting.

Alright, time to fast-track those Delamain humanoid bodies.

For the face model, I’ll just use mine—though my pale, blank mug might be too off-putting. This ain’t a circus.

As for parts… Hmm. Maybe develop organic components now?

I was planning to pivot Delamain Medical into cyberpsychosis research, so might as well prep for that.

"...So much to do. So much to do."

"At this rate, I’m gonna keel over from exhaustion before I even see David and V become living legends…"

Maybe I stretched my hands too wide. Night City’s too damn big for these palms.

But no one in this godforsaken timeline can keep up with how my brain works!

Yeah, yeah, I get it—I’m the only one lugging around memories of that peaceful, naive era like leftover baggage!

Half these people probably want change but can’t even picture what it looks like, so they’re stuck twiddling their thumbs.

"...Wait. Would it be faster to just found a bioware company instead?"

Maybe I should sift through BioTechnica’s arrested mad scientists and scoop up the semi-sane, ethically borderline ones. Put ‘em to work.

If any of ‘em start drooling over human trials, I’ll just pair ‘em off, tell ‘em to make a kid and use that for experiments. Bet they’d reconsider real quick.

…Actually, wouldn’t pushing clone tech be more humane?

Ethical nightmares, sure—but if you squint, it’s useful. Gotta make sure no one flips the script with "Who asked to be born?!" though.

Let’s be real: this city—hell, this world—is already so ethically bankrupt that the soil’s fertile for this crap.

"Everything’s a grind. No, scratch that—living’s a grind here. Why’re the upper crust always so damn shortsighted? Instead of bolting their feet to the ground, why not fix the damn footing?"

Honestly? Night City—no, the whole world—is breaking down like a PARANOIA game after the GM rage-quits.

Everyone’s groping for something to cling to. Everyone’s stopped believing in a sane tomorrow.

That’s why the lazy caste system sticks around. Even the gutter-rats wanna break free, but no one’s got a map.

The reason my slapdash, pirate-adjacent schemes get less backlash? I balance the scales.

After kicking BioTechnica out, I didn’t just bail—I set up a damn henhouse. Not golden eggs, but silver’ll do.

I’m tightrope-walking so corps don’t snap, sneaking in safety nets.

Half the profits BioTechnica’s branch siphoned now grease the wheels to keep others from brawling.

Win-win isn’t a strategy—it’s survival. I stay flat, neutral, un-nailable.

…Why’s it so exhausting? Some days, I just wanna say "screw it all".

I call Victoria over and slump my head onto her firm thighs.

"Jugra’s being soft for once…!"

"...Nah, she’s just using you as a pillow. Your thighs are kinda bony—anti-comfort pillows, huh?"

"Oho, Rebecca! Talking shit, are we? Then why don’t you offer those plush thighs to David, huh? Bet the kid’d love that."

"Wha—?! David’s a baby baby rookie! He’d short-circuit! …Also, the vibe would be all wrong!"

…They’re so young. Kids really do love this kinda chatter.

Glancing around: Kiwi’s curled her hair around a finger, grinning through a holo-call. David and Lucy are faux-arguing over pizza toppings. Maine, Dorio, and Sachi (née Sasha) are beer-drunk, swapping tearful stories. Pilar’s doing his usual street-performance schtick. Vitt and Valley are cracking up with Jackie over old war stories.

…Nice. I wanna be there—empty-headed, grinding through today, laughing with friends.

…I’ve earned this. This fragile, shining moment exists ‘cause of me.

…Damn, that just makes it sadder.

I’m tired.

Maybe I’ll just sleep like this. If I crash hard enough, I’ll wake up me again.

—…Wait. What even is "me" anymore?

The thought pops like a bubble as consciousness fades.