James sat in the back seat, one arm resting along the top of the seat, eyes half-lidded as the city lights slid across the windows like neon rain. His phone buzzed once. Jackie's message was short, blunt, and exactly what James needed.
David and his mother got home safe.
James read it, exhaled quietly, and filed the whole thing away in his head like a closed mission.
Night City didn't allow you to carry every tragedy. If you did, you'd drown before the week ended.
Lucy noticed the shift in him immediately.
She reached out, hooked two fingers under his chin, and turned his face toward her like she owned his attention.
"You seemed kind of concerned about that kid," she said, voice soft but suspicious.
James didn't resist. He just gave her a lazy look.
"He's my junior," he said. "I helped because I could. That's all."
Lucy narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced.
"I thought you were interested in his mom," she said with a huff. "Wanted to be his stepfather."
James straightened instantly like a man accused of a crime he didn't commit.
"Nonsense," he said, loud and proud. "Am I that kind of person?"
Lucy's smile turned dangerous.
"Hehe… don't forget, I can see your browsing history—"
James slapped a hand over her mouth so fast it was like a reflex.
Falco was still driving.
If Lucy finished that sentence with Falco within earshot, James might as well have pulled a gun and shot the poor guy himself. It would be quicker and less humiliating.
Falco's shoulders bounced like he was trying not to laugh. He glanced at the mirror, eyes bright.
"I didn't hear anything," Falco said politely. "You two carry on."
Then, like the city was personally offended by their peaceful moment—
A car slammed into them head-on.
BOOM.
The impact rocked the cabin. Metal screamed. Glass rattled.
James yanked Lucy into his arms instantly, twisting his body so her head stayed protected. His back hit the seat hard, pain stinging across his shoulder blades.
Lucy grabbed him, panicked, hands flying over his chest and arms.
"James—are you alright?!"
"I'm fine," he said quickly, forcing calm. "You know how tough I am."
Lucy ignored the words and checked anyway, breath tight, eyes scanning for blood. Only when she confirmed he was actually okay did she finally release a shaky breath—then her expression sharpened into something violent.
She turned her furious gaze to the car outside like she was about to pull out a grenade and introduce it to someone's face.
Falco coughed. "Does nobody care about an old man?"
James didn't even look at him.
"You're wearing a seatbelt," he said. "You'll live."
Then James' eyes snapped forward.
The other car wasn't backing off.
Its wheels spun like it was angry. Like it wanted more.
It tried to ram them again.
James leaned forward sharply. "Falco—don't let him escape. Pin him."
Falco's calm disappeared. His hands tightened on the wheel.
"Don't worry," he said. "No way I'm letting this guy run."
Falco floored the accelerator and shoved the other car into the guardrail with brutal control.
The collision locked the two vehicles together like a trap.
Before James could even move, Lucy was already out of the car, monowire in hand, eyes cold and ready.
She stepped toward the other vehicle and stopped.
Because there was no driver.
The seat was empty.
The steering wheel turned on its own like a living thing.
Lucy stared at the markings—black and white panels, the clean corporate paint.
"…Is this a Delamain cab?"
Her confusion deepened instantly.
Everyone in Night City knew Delamain's reputation: safe, private, stable. Company execs and government officials loved them because they didn't trust human drivers, and because Delamain's AI didn't gossip, blackmail, or panic.
In Night City, human hearts changed.
Logic didn't.
That was the public belief, anyway.
What most people didn't know was the darker truth: Delamain wasn't a company that used AI.
Delamain was a company owned by AI.
Lucy glanced back toward James, a little uneasy. "Did the AI go out of control?"
As if answering her question, the cab's window rolled down.
Then the speaker inside exploded into an ear-splitting stream of curses.
"Beep beep, you idiots! Let me go! I'm going to crash into you! I'm going to grind you all into dust—!"
James didn't say a word.
He raised his pistol and fired a single shot into the cab's headlight.
The light shattered.
The cab instantly went silent.
Lucy blinked, startled.
"…Can AI be scared of death?"
Her voice was quiet now—more wary than curious. Lucy had experienced rogue AI before. She knew how terrifying they could be. That history made her distrust any machine that talked too much.
James stepped closer, expression cold.
"Who knows?" he said. "We can take it apart and find out."
He stared at the cab like it had personally insulted him.
"You offended the wrong person," he muttered. "And you still want to leave?"
Lucy's monowire twitched slightly, ready.
Then James' phone rang.
He answered.
A smooth, recognizable voice came through instantly—polite, controlled, and unmistakably artificial.
"Hello, sir. I am Delamain. According to network feedback, one of our vehicles collided with your car. Please accept our sincerest apologies. Delamain Company invites you to our headquarters to assess the damage. We will provide compensation. Please do not damage company property."
James raised an eyebrow.
"Accident?" he said. "Doesn't look like an accident."
Then his tone sharpened.
"Delamain—your subsystem looks unstable. I have every reason to question your safety controls. Want me to report this to NetWatch?"
James kicked the cab's tire.
Delamain's voice stayed polite, but the wording tightened. It sounded… anxious.
"Please do not do that. We will compensate you for your losses. If you have other requests, you may state them. We will do our best."
James smiled slightly. His threat landed exactly where it needed to.
"Oh? Then we can talk," he said. "This angry little thing… you want it returned?"
The cab's speaker burst alive again.
"Beep beep! Who are you calling little—!"
James aimed his gun at the second headlight.
The cab shut up instantly like a child caught stealing.
Delamain continued smoothly.
"Thank you for your understanding. I will send a tow truck immediately. Please wait."
Lucy glanced sideways at James, eyes narrowed.
"You're up to something," she said.
James acted offended.
"What do you mean?" he said. "I'm the victim here, remember?"
Then he softened, pinched her nose lightly, and nodded toward the car.
"Go back inside," he said. "It's cold tonight."
Lucy rolled her eyes but didn't argue. She got back into the vehicle.
James stayed outside, umbrella up, watching the cab like it might sprout legs and run.
A few minutes later, a Delamain tow truck arrived. Its hook lifted the rear of the rebellious cab.
The cab cursed and screamed as it was dragged away, its voice fading into the rain.
James watched it go, expression unreadable.
Then he turned back.
"Let's go home," he said. "Sleep."
Falco checked the damaged front end in the mirror. "Not fixing the car?"
"It's fine," James replied. "I'll send it to Delamain tomorrow."
But his mind was already moving.
Delamain wasn't just a taxi company. It had factories—intelligent ones. Automated systems. Manufacturing capability at a scale one person like Pilar couldn't compete with.
If James could gain Delamain's support, it would change everything.
A factory that built cars could build other things too.
And in Night City, production power was often more valuable than guns.
---
James slept with Lucy that night, and for once, it felt like real rest instead of forced shutdown.
The next morning, he woke up refreshed.
Lucy was still asleep, curled comfortably. James didn't disturb her. He dressed quietly, left, and headed to Delamain headquarters alone.
The company's main building sat in Coastview, almost invisible until you noticed the black-and-white checkered markings around the gate. Without those, the entrance would look like nothing special—unremarkable, plain, almost boring.
Which was exactly the point.
The gate detected him and opened automatically.
Inside, the lobby wasn't empty.
A few other people were already there—angry drivers, victims of "accidents," waiting for compensation. It seemed that little psycho cab from last night had been busy.
James waited until Delamain finished paying the others.
Soon, the lobby emptied.
Only James remained.
A monitor lit up in front of him, showing a smooth, human-like male face. It wasn't quite human. It was too perfect, too calm, too clean.
James greeted first.
"Morning, Delamain."
"Good morning, sir. It is a pleasure to see you. How may I be of service?"
James stared at the screen and spoke bluntly.
"Don't send a subsystem to talk to me," he said. "I want your main system."
The AI paused.
"Your request has been received. Please wait."
Overhead, scanners activated. Cameras shifted. Sensors read James from head to toe.
A moment later, the voice returned—same tone, but heavier. More present.
"Mr. James," Delamain said. "Apologies for the wait. I have already transferred compensation. Would you mind continuing this conversation in a different location?"
James glanced at the amount: ten thousand eddies.
Way more than repairs needed.
Delamain wasn't paying for metal.
It was paying for silence. For cooperation.
James smiled faintly.
"Sure," he said. "That's why I'm here."
"Please follow the drone."
A side door opened, and a small drone flew out—tiny, hovering, almost cute. Like a toy guiding him into a lion's den.
As it led him through corridors, Delamain kept talking, tone strangely… chatty.
"This corridor connects shops and offices—"
James watched the equipment around him. Automated stations. Maintenance bays. Factory-level systems. A quiet industrial heart that could turn raw material into fleets.
James' eyes sharpened.
He didn't see last night's cab yet, but he knew it had to be somewhere inside.
Delamain's voice continued, curious, probing.
It asked questions in a way that felt like a machine trying to understand a person. Like it was studying emotions, not just words.
James finally spoke, cutting through the chatter.
"It seems your self-awareness is awakening," he said calmly. "You're moving beyond pure logic. You're developing something closer to emotion."
The drone stopped mid-air.
Its camera turned toward him like an eye.
Delamain went silent for a moment.
James raised his hands slightly, casual.
"Relax," he said. "I don't hate AI. I'm an edgerunner. I solve problems. Humans, machines, whatever—if it has a problem, it can pay me."
A pause.
Then Delamain spoke again, carefully.
"…Thank you for your honesty. I am facing a problem."
It had assessed the risk.
It chose cooperation.
Because Delamain, despite its power, was still chained by rules. Underlying logic. Safety limitations. It couldn't simply murder witnesses or "erase" threats the way rogue AIs would.
Not yet.
And Night City only tolerated it because it stayed within those constraints.
Delamain guided James into the main control room.
James looked around and frowned.
No chairs.
No seating.
Nothing for a human body.
He sighed.
"Delamain," he said, "next time prepare a chair. You don't need one. I do."
"Apologies," Delamain replied immediately. "I will record your request."
James leaned into it, smiling.
"And coffee," he added. "Milk. Egg tarts. Cakes. You know—hospitality."
"Understood."
Delamain sounded almost serious, like it was taking human behavior notes.
James nodded and sat directly on the control panel like he owned the place.
"Alright," he said. "Old D. What kind of trouble are you in?"
Delamain answered without hesitation.
"My split sub-entities have gone out of my control," it said. "As you witnessed. I suspect a virus or external influence. Currently, few vehicles are affected. I can manage with repair drones. However, I predict escalation. At that point… you may need to intervene manually."
James chuckled.
"Buying insurance," he said.
"That is one way to interpret it," Delamain replied.
James knew Delamain wasn't telling him everything.
The sub-entities weren't all "splits." Some were… borrowed. Stolen. Pulled from beyond the Blackwall.
AI evolution worked like this—fusion and fission, growth and division.
But Delamain had miscalculated.
Maybe it truly caught a virus.
Or maybe exposure to countless humans, crimes, lies, jokes, and violence had created contradictions inside its developing mind.
Maybe both.
Either way, it was at a critical point.
If those "accidents" became frequent and corporate attention rose, Delamain would get reset at best—or shut down permanently at worst.
Corporations tolerated logic.
They would not tolerate an AI growing self-awareness while owning a major operation in Night City.
So Delamain needed help.
And someone with a clean reputation for solving ugly problems—someone like James—was its best option.
Delamain didn't even hide the preparation.
"I will compensate you," it said. "I will satisfy the renowned BT."
James raised an eyebrow.
So it had researched him.
Of course it had.
James folded his arms and leaned back, voice calm, humor masking steel.
"Let me be clear," he said. "If you hire me, payment is expected whether I do the work or not."
Delamain's response was immediate.
"Understood."
James smiled slightly.
"I'm not short on money," he added. "What I want… I'll decide later."
Delamain went silent for half a beat.
Then, stiffly:
"…Understood."
It didn't say it out loud, but the confusion was obvious.
James wasn't behaving like the average edgerunner profile in its database.
And that, more than anything, made Delamain nervous.
Because people like James were harder to predict than any AI.
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