Chapter 62

"No more talk." Dila shook the empty glass in his hand, "I'll call home first and check the situation."

"Calm down, calm down, here's a tissue to wipe the sweat off your forehead… I've never seen you this panicked, this disheveled before."

"Isn't it because you're such a damn jinx?" Dila glared at his colleague and snatched the tissue he offered, gripping it tightly.

"OK… OK…" The colleague shook his head, knowing Dila's nature all too well, and resignedly took full blame for it.

Dila ignored him, hurrying to the bathroom, his hand clutching the phone trembling slightly.

The old phone body seemed unable to bear his tightening grip, emitting a strained, grating squeal.

His fingers wobbled up and down, as if no longer obeying his brain's commands.

In just a few seconds, he accidentally dialed the number he knew by heart three times in a row.

"Damn it, calm down, Dila!" he snarled at the pale, drenched, frantic man in the mirror, "You're such a fucking waste!"

He slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering the cowardly reflection into a pile of scattered glass shards.

"Huh…" Dila gasped for air, his bloody fingertips tapping frantically on the screen until he finally entered the correct number.

"Hello? Honey? What's…?"

"Are you alright, Nia!" The flames surging through his body found an outlet, bursting forth—he screamed hoarsely, cutting off his wife's question.

"What could possibly be wrong with me? What's wrong with you, honey? Why are you yelling? My ears are going deaf!" Nia scolded, her voice distant—she'd clearly held the phone far from her ear to protect it.

"Where's Dad? Where's Lao Ruifan?"

"He went to work, like always," Nia replied, puzzled why her husband suddenly cared about such a mundane detail.

"Where exactly does he work? I asked him before, but he never told me—just said he got promoted under the Company's arrangement… all vague and mysterious, such a stubborn old man!" Dila felt his racing heart slowly settle, his tone softening with a hint of amused relief, seizing the chance to vent to his wife.

"He said he'd surprise you when the time was right…" Nia spoke mysteriously, honoring her father's promise and keeping the secret.

"Pfft… Fine, fine, I've got a job to pick up—this one's a fat one! We're having a feast tomorrow!" Dila glanced at the scattered glass wreckage, each shard reflecting his radiant smile.

"Okay, okay, wait for good news… I love you!" Nia pressed a loud kiss against the receiver, as if trying to imprint it on the man's lips through the phone.

She was already imagining the future: her and Dila in her father's shop, playing with little children.

"I love you… Gotta go!"

"Yeah, bye!"

Dila slipped his phone back into his pocket, turned on the faucet to wash the blood from his hands, whistling cheerfully as he stepped out of the bathroom, giving his colleague a reassuring gesture, then walked briskly away from the motel.

Of course, he didn't forget to leave the attendant a tip—to cover the mirror repair.

Though recent troubles had been relentless, his little home remained stable.

Was there anything more comforting than this?

Dila thought, pulling open the door of his parked car and sliding into the seat.

He tugged the rearview mirror, studying his flushed face, his grin widening.

He spun the steering wheel hard, stomped on the accelerator, and the old taxi darted like a nimble peregrine falcon—slipping out of the parking spot, reversing mid-road, then weaving between two oncoming cars just before they crossed paths.

Dila flaunted his driving skills, simply to reach his destination faster.

Three cars were abruptly forced to a halt in the middle of the road; red brake lights flared, and a chorus of furious horns blared, shrill and grating.

The entire lane was blocked by his reckless maneuver.

Dila glanced in the rearview mirror—he noticed an ambulance was also stuck, but he didn't care.

These days, the rich all had insurance and were picked up by dedicated Floating Cars; old ambulances like this were rare—probably just part of the Wanderer Treatment program.

Or maybe corpse collection—just for show.

Dila sneered, stomped the accelerator to the floor, and sent a long red ribbon of tail lights behind him, silencing every vehicle behind.

◎

"Damn it! Why'd we stop? Lives are at stake!" A young voice screamed, his throat raw as if bleeding.

"Traffic jam! Fuck! What the hell is going on!"

Inside the aging ambulance, two figures worked frantically beside the elderly man on the stretcher.

Originally, their Medical Squad had been assigned to the weekly Wanderer Treatment program—but on the way, they'd encountered an elderly man who'd attempted suicide and survived.

"Fuck! You fucking bastard!" The red-haired woman ran back from outside, slamming the passenger door shut.

"Gloria! What's happening?" The man tending to the old man asked urgently, while his young assistant turned beet-red with panic.

"Some lunatic is driving dangerously and blocked the whole road!" Gloria snapped, pounding repeatedly on the ambulance's nearly broken clock.

"Fuck!" The driver muttered under his breath; familiar with Night City's traffic, he had no hope of a quick resolution.

"What do we do now? We can't just watch him die right in front of us!" The young assistant finally burst out, voicing the unspoken fear of everyone present.

"Open the rear door! Get out and find a clear spot—find a driver to help! There's no way there isn't a single decent person in this whole city!" Gloria slapped her new Company-issued Yellow Jacket Uniform, "We've got to live up to this uniform! We're doctors! Fuck it—I'm taking this man from Death's hands today!"

The young assistant was the first to respond, frantically opening the rear door, preparing to carry the stretcher out.

"Careful—this old man can't withstand any more jostling!" The male doctor maintained his professional calm, lifting the stretcher while warning the youth not to be reckless.