"Wake up."
My blissful sleep was abruptly interrupted at the most interesting moment. As I focused my vision, I saw Inga's displeased little face hovering over me, earnestly trying to wake me up.
"You're cruel," I whispered back to the girl, yawning deeply and stretching languidly.
"You promised me something," Engel (Angel in German) said seriously, and my brain frantically tried to recall what exactly I owed her.
"Sorry, I forgot," I replied, carefully propping myself up on my elbows, trying not to wake Han. Finally sitting up, I tilted my head quizzically.
"I've prepared everything already." The girl turned on a flashlight, pointing with her hand at the neatly arranged food, some of which were even peeled.
"Kiwi," I muttered, causing the girl to grimace and glare at me angrily. "Inga, it's too early, let the guys sleep. Maybe we could go for a run instead and give them a chance to rest after yesterday?" The little girl pondered for a moment, trying to decide what was more important to her at the moment: her own impatience or her friends' rest.
"Okay." Kiwi nodded in agreement and roughly grabbed my hand, dragging me along. "Let's go fast, I want to be back before dawn."
I hadn't planned anything serious for the early morning, so I settled for a usual jog around the neighborhood. Night City is well-lit, and it's relatively safe to run on the busy streets without fearing being kidnapped for parts. I ran at a moderate pace, keeping my companion within sight, ready to assist her if needed.
A troubling incident had occurred about three weeks ago. Inga had encountered a nasty piece of work from the "Maelstrom" while walking. Of course, his intentions towards a lone street kid were far from noble. He decided to entertain himself by shooting the girl's legs and watching her crawl away from him. The bastard loudly announced each word, slowly approaching the petrified little girl. By some stroke of luck, Marco and I happened to be passing by at that moment.
We managed to distract the thug, or more accurately, knocked him off his feet without a word between us, and scooped up Inga, her eyes wide with shock, while the passersby carefully pretended it wasn't their problem. No one would have intervened for that idiot, because the "claws" wouldn't ask a gangster about some orphan. They don't care about him unless he starts causing trouble in establishments protected by the Tigers.
Since then, Kiwi became even more withdrawn and unsociable. I had to pull her out of this state, boldly invading the personal space of the white-haired girl. She resisted at every turn, trying to shake off my persistent attention, but my stubbornness eventually won out. Gradually, the girl started to recover and even occasionally smiled, doing so in a way that no one would notice.
How did I find out? I stumbled upon Inga arguing with two inseparable, jovial brothers. When she turned around, she didn't expect to see me. I had arrived earlier than usual that day, bringing some sweets with me. Inga didn't show it, but her lips quickly formed a thin line, expressing what I had thought.
I've been living here for almost three months now, slowly getting used to the new realities of this grim future world. The streets are a complete mess, even though Japantown is considered relatively quiet. It still feels odd to me that someone could just gun you down on the street and walk away without a care. I'm talking about the gangs that keep the cops on a short leash. Sure, sometimes they get taken out, but such cops don't last long on the job. They're discreetly eliminated, or not so discreetly, depending on their luck.
Honestly, I'm starting to miss my old world more and more each day. Yes, it was technologically inferior, and here they can cure almost any disease and even restore lost limbs. But in this damned future, they've completely forgotten about morality, trampling over each other just for a tiny chance to climb higher on the social ladder. Those kinds of people are called 'corporate larvae'. They differ from ordinary folks because they constantly try to manipulate those below them on the social hierarchy. I had an encounter with one about a week ago. This semblance of a rational human being brought us his brain-dance helmet, arrogantly demanding it be fixed by the next day. Of course, with such demands, he was promptly shown the door. Sue can't stand being treated like that, especially by someone who's essentially a nobody.
Our jog was coming to an end. Dawn was gradually breaking, and Engel tugged on my sleeve, pointing towards a staircase. I was fully capable of replicating Marco's acrobatic trick by now, though mastering this parkour element took about a week of failed attempts. If it weren't for my genetically modified body, I doubt I would have managed it. A child of this age simply wouldn't be able to perform such acrobatics due to their small stature and strength. Externally, it's not very noticeable yet, but probably because I'm still growing, and it all goes into my natural height. I wouldn't want to remain a diminutive juvenile forever, but it seems like I won't have that problem, which is a relief.
After helping the girl down the stairs, I boosted her up so she could reach the steps. Someone had recently managed to saw off a significant chunk of the metal, making it quite a challenge to climb up. It turned into a good workout, though Kiwi is still scared to follow my lead, even though she's perfectly capable. She's remarkably strong for her age, and I suspect her parents did something more than just modify her hair. When a child can lift a weight slightly heavier than their own at ten years old, it raises a lot of questions. At least it does for me, given my knowledge of child physiology.
Another dawn was greeted in silence. For some reason, this time, Inga chose to sit next to me. Usually, she sat a bit apart, maintaining a certain detachment. Perhaps Engel felt shy around the other kids, and I evoked more trust in her, but that's just speculation. The minds of others are a mystery to me. Frankly, I have enough trouble understanding myself. My thoughts and brain are those of an adult, but sometimes I'm driven to do foolish things that later fill me with intense embarrassment. Like recently, when I amused myself by tossing small construction debris at people below. It was a moment of boredom, and my twisted imagination suggested it would be fun. It was entertaining for a while, but shame soon overtook me. Maybe it's the child's body or some other reason, but since then, I've had to be more careful with my actions.
Kiwi was a taciturn companion, but even someone as grumpy as her couldn't stay without interaction for long. Han and Shiro just annoyed her, and she tried to avoid them as much as possible.
Marco - he had different interests, being a full-fledged teenager with desires and hobbies closer to adults. In this respect, he found it easier to communicate with me than with the other kids. I, on the other hand, was stuck between two camps, sometimes even three when we all met up at Susan's shop.
We started spending a lot of time together, and often, the kids would meet me after their schooling (work), and our merry gang would roam the neighborhood. It was risky, but we always took care to avoid places where we could be wrapped in polyethylene. Life in Night City is dangerous by itself, but many have learned to ignore the crap happening around them.
"Shall we go?" I nudged Inga's shoulder as the sun fully rose, gradually climbing above the rooftops.
"Uh-huh," the girl nodded and touched my hand, holding it much longer than a usual fleeting touch.
Surprised by the white-haired girl's unusual behavior, I just scratched my head thoughtfully. The connection is definitely building, but Kiwi's tough character doesn't allow her to open up to strangers, even after several months of living together. Perhaps it's because of her past, or more precisely, her upbringing. Her parents drilled one thought into their daughter's head - "Trust no one." As a result, after their death, it turned into a childhood trauma. She subconsciously remembers their words, thereby cutting off any possibility of establishing contact. It's fair to say that Inga endures us all. We help her, she helps us, no other interpretations.
That was the case until recently. The situation with the thug changed everything, and now the girl is initiating contact herself, which solves half of the problems with her future socialization. In any treatment, it's crucial that the patient wants to correct something in themselves. Without their own desire, nothing really works out, and it's possible to even make things worse.
Having descended back down, we returned to our hideout, where Marco had already woken up. The teenager, with a sleepy gaze, was brushing his teeth, staring blankly at the brick wall in front of him. His movements were so monotonous that I got lost watching him for a few seconds. Kiwi brought me back to reality, pinching my arm and pointing towards the groceries. Sheepishly scratching the back of my head, I followed her, and we began our lesson.
The girl did everything herself, listening to my advice and jotting it down in a hardcover notebook she had bought. It was a pricey item, costing 50 eddies, but she looked at it with such longing that we unspokenly allowed ourselves this small expense. Even in a world of the distant future, there are still those who cherish handwriting, which the shop was evidently banking on.
"It's ready." Inga gazed hypnotically at the finished breakfast, slowly serving the masterpiece of her culinary skill.
"Maybe let the others try?" I raised an eyebrow quizzically, eyeing the deliciously fragrant dish. She had made a vegetable stew that filled the area with tantalizing aromas.
"Uh-huh." Kiwi gestured with her hand, asking me to pass her the plates. Once the servings were dished out, everyone began to leisurely eat the freshly prepared food. It was tasty, though in my opinion, it lacked a bit of salt.
"Tasty," Marco declared importantly, placing his empty plate by his feet.
"Uh-huh," Shiro and Han said simultaneously. They were brothers, after all, but they didn't talk much about it. One resembled their mother, the other their father – that was the extent of their differences.
"It was very good, well done," I complimented the girl, who looked down modestly.
We didn't tease Engel any further. She was already steaming from the ears, but at least I got to see her rare smile again, which she tried hard to hide. The girl doesn't like to openly express her emotions.