David squinted at the neon sign blinking from a dingy holo display perched on the roadside: "Burrito XXL, for all your hunger!" He almost laughed but instead rolled his eyes, the memory of that ill-fated meal too vivid to ignore. He'd made the mistake of trying one before—an oversized, greasy monstrosity, more paper wrap than actual food, stuffed with a questionable, slimy sludge that'd left him with a serious case of food poisoning. Since then, the sight of the sign was just a taunting reminder of that miserable day, a reminder that even in Night City, some things just weren't worth the eddies.
Beyond the offending burrito ad, the streets of Arroyo pulsed with the chaotic energy of another morning. Neon-lit shopfronts, the harsh hum of synth music leaking from storefront speakers, and the occasional roar of a souped-up bike tearing down the street—all of it melded into the usual cacophony that was Santo Domingo. For David, though, today wasn't a usual morning. He was here on corpo orders. The first shipment from Militech was scheduled to arrive at his destination soon, and his presence was requested to "supervise."
The holo notification he'd received the night before echoed in his mind: "Standby personnel required—presence only. Observe protocol, do not interfere." David had laughed to himself at the stiff wording; it was corpo-speak for "show up, look tough, don't mess things up." In this part of the city, though, he knew appearances mattered—especially when you were in bed with Militech. He adjusted his jacket, glancing at his reflection in a nearby store window before heading toward his first stop: *The Black Dog,* a shop he'd known since childhood.
Rafael, the shop's owner, had been a lifesaver when David was a kid. One night, David had gotten separated from his mom and was lost, wandering aimlessly through the alleys. Rafael had found him, taken him in, and kept him safe until morning. That night could've ended much worse, especially in a territory skirmished between Valentinos and other gangs. While the Valentinos upheld their own twisted sense of "honor," he was lucky that Rafael's kindness had crossed gang boundaries. That memory left David with a soft spot for the old man.
When David arrived, the Militech truck was already parked in front of *The Black Dog,* its slick, high-security design stark against the rougher, patched-up look of the surrounding buildings. Armed guards in full tactical gear flanked the vehicle, looking out of place yet impervious, eyes cold and assessing. One of them spotted David and nudged another guard, who stepped forward, datapad in hand.
"Mr. Martinez, we were waiting for you," the guard greeted him, ushering him closer to the truck. "Please sign here," he said, extending the datapad toward David with a sense of urgency.
David took the datapad and signed, watching the team immediately spring into action, unloading crates of weapons and protective gear, each item stamped with the unmistakable Militech logo. The guard nodded approvingly. "Couldn't get this operation started without your presence," he said, a faint smile breaking his otherwise impassive demeanor.
David gave a confused frown. "Why not? You guys could've saved some time if you'd just started unloading and waited for me to arrive."
Just then, Rafael stepped out from the shop, taking in the scene with a smirk. "That's not how corpos do things, David. They like their protocol," he said, nodding to the Militech operative.
The guard merely shrugged, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "True enough, Mr. Martinez. We couldn't violate the process, not if we want to keep to schedule. And we have a lot more stops to make today."
David glanced at Rafael, who shot him a knowing grin, clearly amused at David's newfound association with Militech. "Well, looks like you're running with a different crowd these days, kid. Careful—it's a slippery slope."
"Yeah, well, they're paying the bills," David replied, trying to sound casual. But Rafael's words lingered, laced with a hint of warning. It was true; he was in deep with the corporate world now, and there was no going back.
"Alright, then, let's keep this show on the road," Rafael said, giving David a pat on the shoulder. With a final nod, he retreated back into his store, leaving the unloading to the Militech team.
As the items were carefully arranged on pallets and moved inside *The Black Dog,* David's contact gave him a quick, sidelong glance. "You should consider riding along, Mr. Martinez. With you on board, we won't waste time waiting at each stop. It's protocol," he added with a faint smile, his gaze fixed on the datapad as if it held the secrets to the universe.
David shrugged, figuring it might be quicker to stay with the convoy than to keep waiting around. He climbed into one of the Militech trucks, settling in among the guards as they continued their journey. As they wound through the narrow, graffiti-streaked streets of Arroyo, he noticed heads turning, locals pausing to watch as the heavily-guarded convoy rolled past. The sight was a spectacle: a fleet of sleek, armored Militech vehicles snaking through the rougher streets, attracting both admiration and envy. David could practically hear the whispers—the contrast of Militech's sterile corporate power against the scrappy grit of the streets.
As they made their way from one shop to another, the routine was smooth and precise: arrival, unload, and a curt exchange of signatures. David's presence seemed unnecessary, yet the efficiency of it all impressed him. The locals were both curious and wary, giving the trucks a wide berth, their eyes betraying a mix of fascination and resentment. It was the last stop, though, that gave David pause: *The Iron Wolf.* Even the guards exchanged uneasy glances as they approached. The Iron Wolf was no ordinary shop—it was a notorious arms dealer's den, frequented by gang members, mercenaries, and cyberpunks looking for heavy-duty firepower.
The Iron Wolf's sign was barely visible in the haze of neon graffiti and years of grime. David had heard the rumors—this place sold the kind of weapons that could make a real mess. As the guards began unloading, David noticed Diego, the shop's grizzled owner, waiting with a crooked smile and a glint in his eye. He gave David a hard clap on the back, chuckling as he surveyed the shipment.
"Militech gear, eh? Now that's a sight for sore eyes. Never thought I'd see the day when a kid like you would be bringing in a shipment like this," Diego grinned, inspecting one of the crates. "You're going places, David."
David gave him a nod, though he couldn't shake the feeling of unease in his gut. Diego was a regular in this neighborhood, but he was also a man with a reputation—a reputation for dealing with anyone who could afford his prices, no questions asked. As David watched the Militech crates disappear into The Iron Wolf, a sudden thought struck him. This wasn't just a job; he was playing a role in something bigger, something darker than he'd anticipated.
"Guess I'll see you around," he muttered, feeling the weight of Diego's approving gaze as David turned to rejoin the convoy.
As the convoy rumbled back through the streets, David's mind was racing. The exhilaration he'd felt earlier was tinged with something else now, a cold realization that his role was more than just 'standby presence.' Each shop they'd visited, each weapon they'd delivered—he was fueling something dangerous, something he couldn't fully control. He was now a cog in a machine much larger than himself, and every stop, every signature, bound him tighter to the corporate world he once despised.
The neon lights of Arroyo blurred past as the convoy picked up speed, leaving behind the familiar streets and alleys that had once defined his life. Sitting among the guards, watching the streets fade into darkness, David couldn't shake the feeling that he'd crossed a line. He was caught in the teeth of the corpo machine, and he couldn't tell if he was rising to new heights or just falling, deeper and deeper into a life he barely recognized.
