Peter studied David's young, hopeful face. Honestly, if he hadn't known who this boy was, he wouldn't have bothered getting involved.
"You don't need to thank me," Peter said casually. "But remember, my help isn't free."
David raised his head and replied earnestly, "I understand, but I still want to thank you."
He knew nothing in Night City came for free. Relationships here were never simple, always transactional. But despite that, David felt an overwhelming gratitude toward Peter. Not many people would have risked their lives to save someone they didn't know, especially in a city as ruthless as this.
As he reflected on the rescue, David couldn't shake the awe he felt watching Peter in action—tearing open the car door with one hand, kicking a multi-ton car into a lake with a single strike. It was like something out of the stories he used to dream about as a kid.
"Peter," David began hesitantly, "I need to ask you something. Are you the Peter that everyone's been talking about? The one famous among mercenaries lately?"
Peter raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for the boy to continue.
"When V called your name earlier," David explained, "I remembered something. There's this super-dream everyone's been raving about at school, and the protagonist in all of them is you. Those dreams show you taking out gangsters, corporate security, anyone who gets in your way—and it's incredible. You're unstoppable."
David's face lit up as he spoke, the awe clear in his voice.
Peter sighed. He knew exactly what David was talking about. Ever since he started collaborating with Judy, the brain-dance artist at Lizzie's Bar, his exploits had been recorded and sold as "super-dreams." Judy had a knack for creating immersive experiences that let anyone feel like they were in Peter's shoes—facing danger, wielding power, and dominating the streets of Night City.
The recordings had become wildly popular, earning Peter a steady income and turning him into a local legend. Even Judy had been thrilled by the demand, seeing Peter's visits to her studio as both a creative outlet and a financial windfall.
Peter had been fine with this arrangement, as it kept his wallet full and didn't interfere with his personal life—until Jimmy Kurosaki got involved.
Jimmy, a notorious black-market brain-dance creator, had been pestering Peter for weeks, offering to make his dreams even more popular by adding illegal enhancements. Peter had declined politely at first, but after the tenth interruption—during his evening run with Lucy, no less—he'd lost his patience and blocked Jimmy for good.
"Yeah," Peter finally admitted, "I'm the guy in those dreams. There's no one else running around Night City with my name."
David's face lit up with excitement. "I knew it! Brother Peter, I'm a huge fan of your super-dreams! They're insane—you feel so powerful, like nothing can stop you. Even when you're fighting those corpo dogs or gangsters, it's like… like you're invincible!"
Peter smirked slightly but kept his expression aloof. "They're okay, I guess."
His nonchalant response only made David admire him more. To the boy, Peter's humility was proof of his mastery. It reminded him of the martial arts masters he'd read about as a kid—legends who trained for decades to hone their skills, only for their discipline to be overshadowed by the rise of cybernetics.
To David, Peter felt like one of those masters come to life, combining old-world strength with the unstoppable power of modern augmentations.
Half an hour later, a doctor in a pristine white coat emerged from the operating room, holding a tablet.
"Who's David Martinez?"
"Here!" David shot up, raising his hand.
The doctor smiled. "Good news, Mr. Martinez. Ms. Gloria's surgery was a success. She'll need to stay under observation for two days, but she should be fine after that."
David exhaled a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all day.
"Thank you, Doctor," he said earnestly.
The doctor nodded but added, "However, we noticed signs of long-term physical exhaustion in Ms. Gloria. Her body has been under significant strain for some time, which isn't good for her recovery. We recommend she gets plenty of rest moving forward."
David nodded, his relief tempered by guilt. He knew how hard his mother worked to provide for them, sacrificing her own health to keep him in school and out of trouble.
"Here are Ms. Gloria's personal belongings," a nurse said, handing David a box containing his mother's clothes.
After the hospital staff left, David, Peter, and V stood silently in the hallway. David stared at the box in his hands, his mind racing with thoughts of what had just happened and what lay ahead.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"Brother Peter," he said, looking up with determination. "Can I… can I be a mercenary like you?"
Peter raised an eyebrow, hiding the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He had been waiting for this. If David hadn't asked, Peter wouldn't have stuck around as long as he did.
"You want to be a merc?" Peter asked, his tone even.
David nodded. "Yeah. I don't want to feel helpless anymore. Watching you today… I realized how powerless I've been all my life. If I had your strength, I could protect my mom. I could make sure nothing like this ever happens again."
Peter studied the boy's face, noting the fire in his eyes. David wasn't just talking out of desperation—he truly meant it.
"Well," Peter said after a moment, "being a mercenary isn't just about strength. It's dangerous, and it's not for everyone. Are you ready for that kind of life?"
David straightened his back, his voice firm. "I am. Whatever it takes, I'll do it."
Peter nodded, satisfied with the boy's resolve. "Alright, then. Let's see what you've got."
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