Jimmy's Sudden Return
Jimmy, the human boy who had graduated from the Perfumrose Orphanage in Punk City, suddenly appeared. Sonia, delighted to see a familiar face, moved to greet him, but Amon held her back. She had no idea what had become of him, which allowed for such a reaction—but Amon did.
He had heard about Jimmy's whereabouts from the Orphanage Director. 'Why is that junkie here...?' After leaving the orphanage, Jimmy had naturally gravitated toward a gang. He hadn't studied, hadn't built any connections, and all he knew was bullying people. He'd always idolized gangsters anyway. It was inevitable.
He joined a gang, spent his days firing guns, robbing people, extorting "protection money," and causing chaos until the cops chased him down. One day, he'd take a bullet with no insurance to cover a hospital visit, and he'd turn to drugs to numb the pain. What started as a way to forget the agony would soon become his pastime, and he'd end up as a bottom-rung thug, left hand shaking from withdrawal, right hand gripping a pistol, swaggering around.
Amon knew Jimmy hadn't strayed far from that path. He didn't pity him. Blaming the environment wouldn't fly—Amon had changed the orphanage's atmosphere, and Jimmy's peers were all living decent, hardworking lives now. The environment excuse didn't hold water.
On the contrary, Amon was wary of Jimmy. Junkies thought in ways no normal person could comprehend; you never knew when one might snap and come after you. And now, here was Jimmy, right in front of them. He wasn't even trying to hide his armament—his left pocket bulged suspiciously, and he had a pack of fellow lowlife junkie gangsters trailing behind him. His intentions were clearly far from friendly.
Sure enough, instead of a greeting, Jimmy spewed nonsense. "Gimme my money! You're a bad guy. You damn bastard..." Did he even know what he was saying? The fresh needle marks on his left hand answered that for him.
Amon quietly positioned himself to shield Sonia, pulling her behind his back. That simple move must have struck a nerve, because Jimmy lost it. "Again! You always take all the good stuff! Why do you get everything good? It's not fair! That old hag director... Old bitch into guys! You must've sold yourself to her, you male whore!"
Amon's brow furrowed at Jimmy's garbled, grammatically mangled tirade. It was hard to parse, but the ugly insults came through loud and clear. Framing Amon was bad enough, but slandering the Orphanage Director like that was downright repulsive. Sonia, standing beside him, seemed to grasp the gist too—her gaze turned icy.
But Jimmy, oblivious as ever, kept ranting. "Must be nice for you! Always getting favoritism! You fucking prick!"
Amon didn't bother arguing. He knew full well he received favoritism from the director. She was human, after all; it was only natural. Even the Goddess didn't extend universal love to all humanity. Anyone who could was probably just indifferent to everyone, Amon figured.
Still, that didn't mean the other orphans felt no relative deprivation. Amon was acutely aware of his favored status and lived a life of giving back to his peers. Passing down love. It might not absolve him entirely, but it was reason enough not to deserve abuse from someone like Jimmy, who'd only brought misery to others.
That said, debating a junkie was the most pointless thing in the world, so Amon decided to ignore him instead of engaging.
But whether it was lingering pride from his junkie gutter life or rock-bottom self-esteem making him hypersensitive to slights, Jimmy spat and shouted at Amon's dismissal. "You think you're so great? I'm an adult now too! Got friends, making money... And... and... I shoot guns too!"
Jimmy pulled out his pistol and aimed it. His finger was already on the trigger, prompting Amon and Sonia to instinctively dodge. But he seemed oblivious to the implications, just waving it around carelessly.
Judging further talk too dangerous, Amon decided to end this bad blood here and now. He had the fine sword he'd received as a parting gift from the sword dojo clutched in his hand. But as he swiftly made the sign of the cross and lunged toward Jimmy—
Sonia blocked him. "I'll handle it."
Amon blinked in surprise. "Why?"
She pointed at him. "I said I'd protect you. Time to prove it wasn't empty talk."
No time to bicker in front of a riled-up junkie. Amon made a snap decision. "Don't get hurt."
He trusted her. Sonia flashed a pleased smile at his concern, gripped her sword, and charged at Jimmy.
Combat lasted one minute. In that short span, Jimmy and his crew were subdued by Sonia.
At first, the gang—who'd been leering at her crotch or whistling—went down like sacks from blows of her sword's flat side and didn't get up.
They were wrapped up in a minute partly because junkies were slow to react, but even sober, the outcome wouldn't have changed much. Over two years honing their swordsmanship, plain pistols without special engravings were weapons they could handle. Sonia could deflect bullets and knock out groups with the flat of her blade—the gap was vast.
With the delinquents neutralized, Sonia handed them over to the police. Logically, to avoid future trouble, confirming kills would have been wiser. But stabbing helpless foes one by one was still too much for her tender heart. She couldn't bring herself to finish them and preferred leaving it to the cops.
Amon respected her choice. 'Reality isn't a game.' Killing in a game felt worlds apart from real murder. The human brain's sense of guilt was heavy; Amon didn't want her burdened with that.
It might be a soft call in this harsh world, but sometimes such purity was necessary. Amon agreed to let Jimmy's crew live too.
But mercy came with words. "If you cross my path within a kilometer of the orphanage, you're dead. Same if we meet outside this city."
Meaning: Shut up and live quietly in the city. It sounded extreme, but considering he'd spared gun-wielding scum, it was plenty merciful.
Jimmy knew Amon's character well. Amon was kind but not naive. He pursued goodness but executed his version of it without hesitation. Jimmy, who'd been beaten bloody countless times by Amon's resolve—nearly to death—knew he'd follow through.
He couldn't brush off the grim warning. Promising to remember, Jimmy accepted it and was handed over to the arriving police.
Amon and Sonia returned to the orphanage, leaving Jimmy's group to be loaded into squad cars and hauled away. Inside, handcuffed and heads bowed in silence, the mood was somber. Jimmy ground his teeth.
Regret? Not in a junkie's dictionary. His mind swirled with one word: revenge.
Sure, revenge meant escaping the cops and jail first—but he had his ace. 'That corporate guy...!' He recalled the suited, slicked-back businessman who'd given him the job. A vaguely familiar face, but his drug-addled brain couldn't place it. All he remembered: the man had ordered the hit, promising more drugs and $10,000.
Success meant payback on Amon and getting Sonia. Failure this time, but... 'No big deal. With 10 grand...' That cash could buy better augmentations for proper revenge.
As Jimmy smirked alone in the quiet car, a familiar voice came from the passenger seat. "Mission results confirmed, Jimmy. Thanks to you, we know who has mystic power."
Jimmy whipped his head around in shock. There sat the corporate guy, tapping on a pad. Beaming, Jimmy greeted him.
Out of Jimmy's view, the man hid his displeasure and played along. Jimmy took it as a good sign. "Hurry up with the payout, powder... and get these cuffs off! I'm outta here!"
His cocky certainty irked the corporate man, who didn't hide his contempt. "This is why using rootless junkies is such a hassle..."
He shook his head with a sigh. The driving cop grumbled in agreement. "Cheap for a reason."
"True enough."
Jimmy couldn't follow. He clocked something off only when the cars reached the docks instead of the station.
They were dragged out. Now even a drugged fool like Jimmy got it. The situation screamed obvious.
Dig deeper: Jimmy had broken Cyberpunk Rule #1. Money doesn't lie. Paying a dime-a-dozen uninsured junkie $10,000 each versus twelve lead slugs to the head? No contest.
Any rational person would've smelled the rat from the offer. But Jimmy's inflated ego, drug temptations, and lust for Sonia blinded him.
"Spare me..." Jimmy begged, sobbing.
No one cared. Without hesitation, they shot his crew in the head. Cops with free hands casually dumped the limp bodies into the sea. Pure efficiency—no emotion. Just business as usual.
As Jimmy's turn neared, his last thought was the salty taste of forgotten fries.
Having dumped the twelve bodies, the corporate man got into his car, escorted by police, heading off somewhere. "Yes. Yes. All taken care of."
Muttering to the air, he nodded and spoke deferentially to whoever was on the other end. "Certain. Mystic power can't be hidden in a life-or-death fight."
His eyes gleamed with conviction. "Yes. It's the girl. Definitely her."
Escorted by a fleet of cop cars cutting through the city night, his vehicle's Hickzen Group logo reflected the red neon glow.