11. The Escaped Cyberpsycho

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“This is fifteen hundred, apart from the money already divided after the deposit.”

The total payment was six thousand, meaning each of them would receive two thousand. That was more than most workers in Night City earned in a month, but for mercenaries like Carl, Oliver, and Jack, it was nothing extraordinary.

After buying some drinks and hot food on the way, the three returned to Oliver’s room and resumed the meal that had been interrupted earlier.

“We did a lot today. I’m exhausted. I honestly don’t know how those corporate dogs who work twenty hours a day manage to keep going.”

Between the Maelstrom and the Scavengers, Carl really was feeling tired after such a hectic day.

“I’ve heard that some corporate dogs have an organ removed from their brains. After that, they only need stimulants and other drugs to keep working nonstop for twenty-four hours.”

As he spoke, Jack tossed Carl a bottle of soda.

“Little Coco-Cola, love in your heart~”

“Stop disgusting me. I don’t like this soda.”

Once he had caught it, Carl threw it back in disdain. His aim was off, however, and the bottle struck Oliver, who happened to be sitting beside Jack, squarely in the head.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Carl’s body had not undergone much augmentation, so exhaustion naturally led to the occasional mistake. In that respect, he could not compare with people who possessed mechanical limbs. Some factory workers could even fall asleep while working, yet the chips in their heads and the cybernetic limbs on their arms would still support them and keep them going.

“What time is it now?”

Oliver rubbed his head and asked Jack, who was sprawled on the sofa drinking beer.

“Eight-thirty. The night’s still young. Want to watch a movie?”

Jack picked up a skewer of chicken coated in sauce and stuffed it into his mouth. Chewing the tender meat, he said with pleasant surprise, “This chicken skewer tastes incredibly authentic. I knew it—the best stuff is either over in Japan Town or right here in the city center.”

“Authentic?”

Carl eyed the chicken covered in sweet-and-sour sauce with suspicion. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up a skewer, used the toothpick to spear off a piece, and put it into his mouth.

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His face twisted.

“Neither the flavor nor the texture can be called authentic.”

“Not everyone’s eaten real chicken like you have, Carl. These days, ninety-nine percent of the people in Night City have never tasted real meat. Of course the texture’s just something they cooked up. For us, this is authentic.”

As he ate the soft synthetic chicken and watched Carl struggle to swallow a piece, Jack thought for a moment before saying, “Living on vegetables all the time isn’t ideal either. Since you’re used to real meat and can’t get accustomed to this stuff, why don’t we find someone who smuggles goods out of the Badlands and see if they can bring you some real meat?”

“It must be expensive.”

Carl had begun eating fries from the bucket. He was tempted, but the price made him hesitate.

“Not as much as you’d think.”

Oliver came from Santo Domingo, a district close to the Badlands, and knew the prices there fairly well.

“A chicken costs roughly a thousand euros, while a pig costs five thousand. Of course, that’s just the price of the meat itself. It doesn’t include the commission or the money needed to grease palms, and there’s no guarantee the animal will arrive alive. Even if it doesn’t, though, they’ll at least preserve the carcass.”

“A thousand euros for a chicken, five thousand for a pig… That sounds almost affordable?”

Carl was surprised to find the prices didn’t seem particularly high. But when he thought about it carefully, a fried synthetic whole-chicken meal in Night City cost only eighteen or twenty euros. A fiftyfold difference was already astonishing.

“That may seem manageable for us, but consider ordinary people. A month’s wages might buy them only one real chicken. Then there are the inspections at checkpoints, the cost of hiring nomads in the Badlands, and everything else. By the end, you might spend considerably more than a thousand euros and still not receive anything. That should give you some idea why real meat is so rare in Night City.”

Oliver explained, “Pork actually has it easier than chicken. Because of the avian flu outbreaks in the past, Night City keeps a very close eye on poultry, and the bribes required at customs are much higher. If you’re truly interested, I’d recommend getting real pork instead.”

“If I wanted an entire pig, how much would it cost? I mean including the bribes and everything.”

“Ten thousand euros should be enough to guarantee delivery.”

Ten thousand euros…

Carl currently had only about fifty-two thousand euros in total. In other words, all the money he had earned through hard work would buy him only about five pigs.

Corporate dogs as generous as Blanca were rare.

“That kind of money could buy some pretty decent cyberware,” Jack said, clicking his tongue when he heard the price.

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“The meat that gets removed when we install cyberware isn’t worth as much as a pig.”

Oliver bit into a burrito filled with synthetic meat and said, “What do you think, Carl? If you want some, I can find a way to contact the people over there. Or you could try getting used to this stuff. Synthetic meat made from things like worms and locusts still counts as ‘real meat’ in its own way.”

“Oliver, Jack, don’t you want any real meat?”

Carl had already decided to spend the money. As a mercenary, he could not afford to deprive himself when it came to food. Before doing so, however, he wanted to see whether Oliver and Jack were willing to chip in and buy some together.

“Synthetic meat is made from worms, locusts, and things like that. I’ve been eating it since I was little, ever since I first learned what food was. My taste buds are used to it. If I suddenly ate real meat, I might end up disliking it just as much as you dislike synthetic meat now. I’ll pass.”

Oliver had no intention of buying pork, but Jack was quite interested.

“I’ll buy some meat too. Oliver, can they bring over real corn or something from the Badlands? I want to try making tamales.”

Tamales were a traditional Mexican dish, indispensable during festivals such as the Day of the Dead, weddings, and birthdays. They were also one of Jack’s favorite foods. In the past, the tamales he ate had almost always been made with synthetic meat and cornmeal. If he had the chance to try authentic tamales, naturally he had no reason to pass it up.

“I’ll contact the people over there later and let you know the exact price.”

As Oliver spoke, he glanced up at the television. He discovered that the latest follow-up report was covering the cyberpsychosis incident in Kabuki, Watson—the same incident that had already been reported while they were away.

“The cyberpsycho vanished before the MaxTac team arrived. Residents in the surrounding areas are advised to remain alert.”

Carl and Jack were drawn to the report as well.

“Vanished without a trace… How far is Kabuki from here?”

Jack frowned.

“Thirty minutes on foot.”

That was Carl’s answer.

He had only just walked back to the apartment from Kabuki today, taking a detour through the industrial district, so he knew from experience.

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