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.
Her ribs twinged faintly as she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Not enough to qualify as pain - much more resembling presence. The body's way of saying "I remember." She almost welcomed it. Physical reminders were easier to handle than the ones gnawing at her thoughts.
"You're leaving them. In the name of... What exactly?"
The thought slid in uninvited, yet eerily persistent.
Void clenched her fists. She'd left people before, so none of this was new. She told herself that like a mantra - like repetition could sand down the truth until it fit better. She'd walked away from crews, from cities, from entire lives, all neatly packed into duffel bags and encrypted drives. She'd survived every time.
But... This felt a little different.
Amy's face kept resurfacing in her mind - the way she'd hugged her, careful and fierce all at once. The way her voice had cracked when she said she hated how Void talked about being "fine." Keira's arms, solid and grounding, wrapping around both of them like she could physically hold the future in place if she tried hard enough.
Void swallowed hard as she pushed through the stairwell door and stepped out into the street.
The heavy air hit her face as Szczecin carried on around her, blissfully indifferent. People walked past with groceries, headphones in, eyes elsewhere. A tram rattled in the distance. Life continuing, as it always did, even when you felt like you were stepping off the edge of something.
"They didn't ask you to do this," her brain whispered.
No, they hadn't. They never would.
Some random weirdo from the 'Net had.
And worse - Void herself had.
She'd told Keira she wasn't running. She'd told Amy she cared. Both of those things were true. And yet here she was, walking towards a plane that would take her somewhere she knew was dangerous, for a procedure she knew was rushed, all because standing still felt like suffocation.
That was the part she couldn't quite stomach.
She wasn't doing this to kick Zetatech in the balls. Not that kind of a rebel. She wasn't even doing it for Freya's glittery little war, or the money. She was doing it because some small, vicious part of her was terrified of becoming obsolete. Of waking up one day and realizing the world had moved on to faster minds and sharper reflexes and she was still standing there with nothing but pride and scars.
"You've built your whole identity on being enough without implants."
The thought burned.
She had. Every run, every ICE she'd torn apart, every system she'd slipped through without neural acceleration - it had all been proof. Proof that she didn't need augmentation to be dangerous. Proof that flesh and discipline could still beat chrome and shortcuts.
Now she was flying halfway across the world to let someone open her skull and wire her into the future, just to have a head-start in Poland, she thought.
"Traitor," a familiar voice sneered in the back of her mind.
Void shook her head sharply as she reached the tram stop, like she could physically dislodge the thought. She boarded when it arrived, found a seat by the window, and watched the city slide past in reflections and fractured angles.
"I'm not betraying anything," she told herself. "I'm just... Adapting."
The justification tasted thin, though.
Her reflection in the glass looked steadier than she felt inside - eyes sharp, posture composed, vibrant hair pulled back neatly. She looked like someone who knew exactly what she was doing. People always believed appearances. Style over substance - that was half the job.
Inside, though, guilt coiled tight and quiet.
Guilt for leaving Amy with unanswered fears.
Guilt for not telling Keira just how much she trusted her instincts about Freya.
Guilt for not admitting - even to herself - that part of her was hoping the neural link would shut the fear up. That it would drown out the constant edge-of-failure buzz in her head with something cleaner. Faster. Better.
"If it goes wrong," she thought, staring at her reflection, "they'll blame themselves."
That scared her more than anything else.
The tram slowed. The airport loomed ahead - glass, steel and artificial calm. Void stepped off, bag heavy on her shoulder, feet carrying her forward, seemingly with a mind of their own.
Inside, everything was too bright. Too orderly. Screens flickered with destinations and times that felt meaningless. Night City glared back at her from one of them, block letters like a dare.
She checked in. Security. Familiar motions, automatic and detached. Her body moved while her mind lagged half a step behind, still stuck in that kitchen, in the warmth she'd deliberately walked away from.
By the time she reached border control, her nerves had settled into something colder and sharper. Defensive. That was easier to wear.
The guard took her passport, flipped through it, then paused.
"Night City," he said, looking up. "That's... Quite the trip."
Void gave a neutral hum.
He leaned back slightly, eyes lingering longer than professional courtesy allowed. "Not exactly a safe place for a young woman traveling alone."
There it was.
Void felt something in her chest snap neatly into place - anger cutting clean through guilt, through all the doubt and fear. She welcomed it like an old friend.
She smiled, slow and razor-edged. "Good thing I don't rely on safety," she said. "Just competence. Something you seem to be lacking."
The guard frowned. "I'm just saying-"
She leaned forward, voice dropping just enough to draw attention. "You're saying things you wouldn't say to a man with the same destination. That's called 'a bias.' Want to keep going, or should we bring your supervisor into this little sociology lesson?"
A couple of guards nearby glanced over. One raised an eyebrow. Another smirked.
Color crept up the man's neck. He cleared his throat, stamped her passport a little harder than necessary, and slid it back. "Have a safe flight."
Void took it, straightened, and met his eyes one last time. "Always do."
She turned and walked toward the gate, heart pounding now - not with fear, but with the terrible, exhilarating knowledge that there was no turning back.
The gate area was a study in controlled impatience.
People clustered around charging stations like starving animals, cables snaking across the floor. A corpo couple argued in low voices over seating upgrades. Someone slept with their mouth open, jacket pulled over their head like denial of reality could function as a blanket.
Void found an empty seat near the window and dropped into it, bag between her boots. Outside, the aircraft waited - sleek, impersonal, a silver promise that once she stepped inside, the choice would stop being theoretical.
Her hands trembled slightly.
She curled them into fists and forced herself to breathe.
"As usual... You did this on purpose," she thought. "You didn't want to give yourself time to doubt."
And still - here it was. Doubt, blooming stubbornly in her chest like mold on a fruit.
She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the contacts list longer than she meant to. Names scrolled past: old handles, dead ends, ghosts. People she'd trusted once. People she'd buried. People she'd learned not to need.
Then she hit "Sandy."
The call barely rang once.
"Void?" His voice came through warm and gravelly, threaded with surprise and unmistakable relief. "Hahahaha, can't believe it. Holy shit. It's been a long time! You alive?"
She exhaled, shoulders loosening despite herself. "Last I checked."
"That's not an answer," he said. "Where have you been all this time?"
"Unimportant. Currently an airport. Heading your way."
There was a pause - not suspicion, or hesitation. Just processing.
"Night City," Sandy said. "You always call when you're about to do something absolutely stupid."
Void smiled faintly. "You wound me."
"Uh-huh. When do you land?"
"Tomorrow morning. Early."
"Perfect!" he exclaimed immediately. "You're staying with us."
Void blinked. "I was going to ask if-"
"No," Sandy cut in. "You're staying with us. That wasn't conditional. Been too long since we had time to hang out proper."
She swallowed, throat tight in a way that had nothing to do with fear. "Thanks, Sandy."
"Don't thank me just yet," he said dryly. "Emmie's already reorganizing the spare room in her head."
That got a real smile out of her. "She still hates talking, huh?"
"She talks," Sandy replied. "Just not out loud. Hold on-" There was a muffled shift, fabric rustling. "Okay. She says - and I quote - 'If Void brings that awful black tea again I'm throwing it out, but I'm excited.'"
Void laughed softly. "Tell her I'll bring the good stuff."
"She also says you still owe her for Brussels."
Void leaned her head back against the seat, eyes closing as memory washed over her. "You're never letting that go, are you?"
"Never," Sandy said, fond and firm. "You dropped a fuckin' datashard into a champagne fountain."
"It was... Strategic misdirection," Void protested. "No one suspects the fountain and you know it."
"It was a Belgian senator's wedding, for fuck's sake," Sandy shot back. "There were twelve embedded journalists and a drone choir. You caused an international incident."
Void grinned, eyes still closed. "We got the shards, though didn't we?"
"We got half the shards," he corrected. "The rest were floating in prosecco."
"And yet," she said, "you're set for life and still married Emmie instead of going to prison. Sounds like a win."
Sandy chuckled. "You scared the hell out of her that night, you know."
"I saved your asses," Void replied. "Remind me who forgot to erase the CCTV servers on their way out, again?"
"That's why she likes you," he said simply. "You saw her before she spoke."
Void opened her eyes, staring up at the terminal ceiling. "I could use some of that right now."
Another pause. This one heavier.
"Okay, real talk. What are you exactly planning to do here, Void?" Sandy asked gently. No accusation, more like... Concern.
She hesitated - then decided not to lie. Not to him, out of all people.
"Getting work done," she said. "And getting my skull cracked."
"Waaait... You? Getting chipped?"
"Yeah. Brainsponge alone won't cut it this time."
"Of course, makes sense..." he muttered. Then, firmer: "You don't have to do this alone."
"I know," she said. "That's why I called."
Outside, ground crew moved with choreographed efficiency. Somewhere nearby, a boarding announcement chimed - her flight.
Sandy sighed. "Emmie says she's making lasagne. And she's not asking whether you want it."
Void smiled, something aching and grateful starting to glow in her chest. "Tell her I'll eat whatever she puts in front of me. I still remember her cooking - fuckin' godlike."
"She figured."
The boarding call echoed again, closer now.
"I should go," Void said.
"Yeah," Sandy replied. "Get here in one piece."
"I'll try."
"No," he said. "You will."
She ended the call and sat there for a moment longer, phone warm in her hand.
Between Szczecin and Night City, her fear and resolve, between flesh and future, Void stood on a narrow bridge - one she wasn't sure if it's being renovated or set ablaze as she moved through it.