The Way Of Corpo

Stepping up

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."