Chapter 28: The Angel of Death

January 12, 2074, morning.

The sun caressed her angelic face with warm golden silk.

She shielded her flawless visage with her hand and slowly opened her eyes.

She could not recall who had once told her that when waking in the Badlands after spending the night there, one must cover one's face with a hand before opening one's eyes.

She could no longer remember the exact words, only the general meaning.

The memories of her childhood had been deliberately abandoned by her in a corner, left for the torrent of time to wash them into fragments.

Even so, occasionally she would inadvertently pick up a fragment of the past.

What followed was heart-rending pain and sleepless nights.

Those were epitaphs carved knife by knife upon her heart by dozens of lost souls.

Only after the whispers of the spirits gradually faded from her ears did she sit up and brush the dust from her clothes.

She tightened the ragged cloth wrapped around her body and, slowly yet resolutely, set foot on the road to Night City.

Aside from a massive crater, the road held no interesting sights; everywhere one looked was merely a barren expanse of dirt and yellow sand composing the desolate Badlands.

She gazed from afar at that crater.

The bottomless, gloomy shadow within the hole effortlessly extinguished her slight curiosity.

Thus, she slowly detoured around this land of divine punishment.

Beneath the shadows lay buried the corpses of nine stars and over ten thousand skeletal remains.

Knowing nothing of this, she continued walking.

The sun hanging high in the sky watched her silently.

Her shadow was dragged out very long upon the ground.

January 13, 2074.

It was Lucy's second day in Night City.

The vast disparity in rent prices within Night City left her gasping.

With limited savings on her person, she chose to temporarily settle on the fifth floor of the super-skyscraper H4.

The equipment and pool previously used for deep diving were naturally left to the landlord's family, serving as extra repayment for the meticulous care shown by the mother and daughter.

She could not connect to Cyberspace for the time being.

She needed to find a way to make money.

She sat on the subway, thinking silently to herself.

Soon, she found a method to earn money.

January 14, 2074, 8:30.

Night City Subway Line 4.

"Thanks for your help, Rob."

"So, did you and Clementine get back together?"

"Mm..." The man wearing a long trench coat nodded lightly, a smile playing on his lips.

"Attaboy, Joel!" The middle-aged man with thinning hair excitedly patted his friend on the back.

"What about you?" Joel leaned his head against the train's glass window, yet his eyes looked toward his friend.

"Sigh, you know, lately Biotechnica has run into some trouble; they're saying emergency layoffs are coming, and I'm tight on cash myself, plus my wife and daughter need money for medical treatment..."

"I'll lend it to you..."

This old friend had gone to great lengths to issue a mission commission for his sake; originally not well-off, he was now facing even worse straits.

Joel sighed and immediately transferred money to Rob.

"Thanks, bro..." Rob did not stand on ceremony; under the heavy pressure of corporate layoffs and his wife and child falling ill, this middle-aged man had no choice but to cast aside all dignity.

Fortunately, he still had friends.

"What's wrong, Rob?"

As they were about to disembark, Joel looked puzzledly at his friend, who kept touching his neck.

"Nothing..." Rob scratched his sparse hair, smiling awkwardly, "Maybe I was bitten by a bug; my neck feels a bit itchy..."

Joel laughed and punched his friend lightly, parting ways with him at the Company Plaza and waving goodbye.

January 14, 2074, 20:00.

"Clementine!" Joel opened the apartment door and gently embraced the long-haired woman who threw herself into his arms.

"Welcome home!"

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.

In the past, they had voluntarily undergone treatment, choosing to completely forget each other.

Now, they swore by the moon that for the rest of their lives they would never leave or abandon one another, staying together until old age.

"How about we go to a restaurant for a meal tomorrow night?" Clementine lay against the man's warm chest, asking softly.

"Sure, let's invite Rob too; without his commission, we might still be kept in the dark by the Clinic."

"Mm..." She responded softly, slowly drawing circles on the man's chest.

January 15, 2074.

It was Lucy's fourth day in Night City.

Night City was just as she had imagined thousands of times in her dreams: a repository of filth and grime, reeking of foul odors.

During the day, she liked riding Night City's subway, stealing sinful money, and simultaneously touring the pus-filled flesh within the heart, spleen, and lungs of this man-eating ferocious beast.

At night, she was accustomed to smoking cigarettes and weaving through the streets of Night City, like a lonely wandering soul.

Like the poet Dante, she chanted the Divine Comedy, walking between the nine circles of hell and the seven terraces of purgatory.

Amid splashing lava and choking gunpowder smoke, she walked alongside demons, glimpsing a mottled fragment of truth within blood and fire.

The howling wind and torrential rain drowned out the melody she hummed softly.

January 15, 2074, 20:30

"Strange, why hasn't Rob arrived yet?" Joel asked puzzledly, glancing at the floating digital projection on the wall.

"Why don't you go to the entrance to meet him? As everyone knows, Rob isn't very good with directions..." Clementine teased, making a harmless joke.

She held two precious bouquets in her hands.

In Night City, these bundles of crimson and tender green were worth their weight in gold.

One bouquet Joel had bought for her, to commemorate their unchanging love;

the other they intended to give to Rob, to commemorate his enduring friendship.

"Alright then..." Joel scratched his hair, signaled the Waitress to serve the dishes later, left a heavy kiss on Clementine's lips, and turned to head downstairs.

"Hello? Rob, where are you? Clementine and I are both waiting for you..."

Standing outside the first-floor entrance, Joel contacted his friend, an ominous premonition eroding his trembling heart.

A storm raged outside the door, with fierce winds following close behind, forcing Joel to squint his eyes.

"Joel... I'm finished..."

"What do you mean?" Joel shouted in confusion; only by doing so could he prevent his voice from being swallowed by the wind and rain.

"The money... it's gone..." The voice on the other end of the line was intermittent, "The Company laid me off... My wife and daughter had no money for treatment at the high-end Clinic... Just now... the surgery failed..."

"Rob?!" Joel shouted, but the call had already been disconnected.

"Joel..." A somewhat unfamiliar, hoarse voice came from behind him, like a terrifying roar emitted by a fierce ghost walking through the human hell.

"Rob?" Joel turned around in confusion, raindrops slanting with the wind slapped against his face, making it impossible for him to open his eyes.

"I'm sorry..."

The slightly balding man stood silently in the rain, right behind Joel.

He lifted the robe he was wearing, revealing explosives strapped all over his body.

"I have nothing left! Joel!" he shrieked insanely, his features twisted and hideous.

The ticking sound of the countdown was drowned out by the raindrops.

"You are the only friend I have left... Hahahahaha..."

His madness, his roaring, and the flash of the explosion simultaneously echoed through the torrential rain of this night.

A blinding light shot into the sky, attracting the gaze of countless people.

Sitting in the fifth-floor restaurant, Clementine smiled, holding two bouquets, staring blankly at the brilliant, beautiful fireworks that bloomed like the final flourish of life.

She was waiting for a pair of friends to walk into the restaurant side by side.

To celebrate the priceless nature of love and friendship together with her under this grand pyrotechnic display.

Sadly, she would wait in vain for the rest of her life.

January 15, 2074, 20:45

Even the ghostly figures wandering the night were drawn by the sky-piercing explosion.

She wore a plastic raincoat, standing quietly before the shattered remains of a man.

The mechanical pupil rolling on the ground seemed to still retain traces of shock and astonishment.

Lucy tried to light a cigarette, but the rising tiny flame was instantly extinguished by the howling wind and wailing rain.

She let out a soft sigh, took out a plastic bag from her person, and gathered the broken corpse of this stranger.

She had earned quite a lot today and was in a good mood.

She could afford to give this stranger a decent burial as well.

She pondered silently, yet felt that the scarred face looked somewhat familiar.

Just an illusion, perhaps.

She sighed, lifted the small plastic bag, and walked toward the nearby self-service crematorium.

Strolling through the night, the wind and rain brushed past her as she began to chant a low divine hymn once more, like an angel of death.

January 16, 2074, 8:00

"Good morning... Night City... Last night... Restaurant... Madman... Explosion... Deceased... Joel Carey..."

The host's noisy voice woke Xida from her sweet dream.

"Yahweh?" she pouted dissatisfiedly.

She found it strange that the person beside her pillow was sitting by the bedside, listening to the broadcast, motionless.

"Joel is dead..." he said softly.

His tone was indifferent.

Like a cold blade carving indifferently into cold stone, stroke by stroke, leaving behind only a concise epitaph.

Just like the life of that gloomy man, plain and uninteresting.

Xida silently embraced him from behind.

Her heart ached as he took another step toward becoming human.

This was the second time Yahweh had harbored some strong emotion toward someone other than Xida.

Xida did not know if this was a good thing.

All she could do now was hold him silently.

Xida had Rogue, she had Gloria, she had many kind-hearted people to rely on.

Yahweh could rely on only her.

She sighed softly, gently embracing his temporary fragility.

Sunlight pierced through the glass, illuminating his profile and leaving behind a silent silhouette.