Morning in their place came with the sound of tools instead of birds.

Void woke to the metallic rhythm of a grinder singing somewhere beyond the thin wall of the spare room. Not an angry sound. Rather, a happy one. Sandy-happy. One that meant he'd found an excuse to take something apart and call it "organizing."

She rolled out of bed, pulled on her hoodie, and followed the noise into what Sandy generously called his "smithy."...

At the moment, her workshop reeked of ground steel and burnt insulation, which - according to Keira - was "the holy trinity of honest labor."

Amy stood near the workbench with her signature pose - hands folded into the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, watching Keira half disappear into the open hood of an electric van that looked like it had lost a fight with a power station. Its side panel was scorched, paint blistered into ugly bubbles, and the diagnostic screen mounted above the engine bay flashed warnings like it was having a nervous breakdown...

Disembarking in Night City did not feel like arriving.

It felt like being processed.

Void stepped out of the plane into a corridor that glowed softly blue, light panels embedded in the walls like veins. The air was warm, scented faintly with something floral that had no business existing inside an airport. Automated voices murmured in half a dozen languages, each one perfectly modulated, perfectly calm...

Void had always believed that if something was truly important, it would announce itself properly. Sirens. Gunfire... Maybe explosions. Something cinematic.

Boarding a plane, it turned out, felt more like waiting in line for a bad verdict.

Flying was fine. Physics made sense. Engines made sense. Gravity was a contract you could break with enough thrust and a good tilt. What Void hated was the ritual. The shuffling line. The performative politeness. The way everyone pretended this wasn't a metal coffin with snacks...

The hallway felt like it stretched for miles this time around, yet Void took it slow, not because she had to anymore, but because rushing felt wrong. With every floor she descended, the apartment above her felt further away, like it was already receding into memory instead of just being three levels up.

Naturally, she didn't like the feeling at all...