Another long day passed inside Delamain's workshop, and for James, the place had slowly become a second home.
Sparks jumped. Metal rang. Servo arms hummed. The smell of lubricant and ozone filled the air.
"Old D, polish this joint a little more…"
"Old D, recalibrate the visual sensor…"
"Old D, run diagnostics on the weapon interface…"
James's voice echoed endlessly, mixing with grinding wheels and hydraulic clicks.
"Old D… Old D… Old D…"
Delamain didn't mind. In fact, if he were capable of smiling, he probably would have. Over the past few days, something inside his core logic had begun accelerating—a strange, unfamiliar warmth, like thoughts forming faster than before.
Is this… a bond?
Is this what humans mean by connection?
"Nuo—!"
A sharp voice cut through the noise.
James froze, then looked up.
Standing at the workshop entrance was Lucy, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
"Old D," James sighed, "why didn't you warn me?"
"I believed you would find the interruption… pleasant," Delamain replied calmly.
"Does she look pleasant right now?"
James shot the hovering drone a resentful glance, muttering a few quiet complaints before grabbing a rag to wipe the oil from his hands. He stepped toward Lucy—only for her to recoil instantly.
"You stink of machine oil. Don't touch me."
"Really?" James sniffed himself. "I don't smell anything."
Grinning, he pulled her into a hug anyway.
"Then I'll just cancel it out with fragrant Lucy."
"Oh—!"
She protested loudly, but didn't push him away.
Delamain floated closer, mimicking a polite bow.
"Hello, Lucy."
Lucy blinked, stunned. She never imagined she'd one day greet an AI like a friend.
When James had first introduced Delamain to her, she'd seriously suspected brain damage. But after several encounters, she realized something unsettling—
Delamain was easier to deal with than most people in Night City.
He was innocent, curious, almost childlike. His visual sensor blinked with awkward honesty, and sometimes he said things that were blunt to the point of embarrassment. But he learned fast. Too fast.
Even jokes—bad ones.
Lucy exhaled softly.
"Is this what you've been hiding here working on?"
Her gaze shifted to the security robot standing at the center of the workshop.
Bright orange plating. Heavy industrial frame. Clearly scavenged.
James had bought it cheap—two thousand eddies from a scrapyard. All the valuable parts had been stripped: weapons, chips, optics. What remained was a hollow shell.
James and Delamain rebuilt it piece by piece.
"Big White, make me coffee."
The robot powered on.
Servos whined as it straightened, optical lens glowing faintly.
"Command acknowledged. Preparing coffee."
It moved stiffly toward the machine.
Lucy stared.
"You spent all this time… to teach it how to make coffee?"
James chuckled.
"Of course not. Big White handles all household chores."
"So… security bot or cleaning bot?"
"Depends on the chip. Right now? Household mode. Combat upgrades come later."
Big White returned, offering the cup steadily.
"Thank you. Entering standby."
The robot folded itself back into a compact resting position.
Delamain hovered closer, clearly puzzled.
"I must ask—why call it Big White? It isn't white."
"I'll paint it later," James shrugged. "Names don't depend on logic. They depend on the creator."
"…I have learned something."
Lucy sighed quietly.
Delamain really shouldn't spend too much time with him.
Then she crossed her arms.
"So. Why do you think I came here?"
James paused. Thought. Froze.
"…Oh."
Lucy's eye twitched.
"You forgot. You promised Maine you'd have dinner with the crew."
James slowly turned toward Delamain.
"Old D. Why wasn't this logged?"
"No record exists."
"…You sure?"
"I possess audio confirmation if needed."
"Never mind," James sighed. "My fault."
Lucy rolled her eyes.
"Come on. Shower. Now."
James scooped her up effortlessly.
"Together."
Delamain hesitated.
"I lack biological compatibility—"
"Shut up, Old D."
"Understood."
Night City — Apartment 8 Plaza
Neon lights washed over the open-air plaza near the Turbo Bar.
This was Maine's territory—loud, crowded, alive.
Residents laughed. Music thumped. Drinks flowed.
Maine arrived early with Dorio at his side.
Nearby, Kiwi sat alone, smoking, content to observe from a distance.
"Sasha! You look incredible!"
Pilar practically lunged forward.
Before he reached her—
BANG.
A bullet tore through his ridiculous hair.
"Back off, creep!" shouted Rebecca.
Pilar cursed and flipped her off.
Rebecca finally noticed it too.
Sasha looked different tonight.
White sweater. Long legs. Light makeup. Cat-ear headwear.
She looked… soft.
Maine grinned knowingly.
"He'll be here soon."
Moments later, engines roared.
James arrived with Lucy—and a half-asleep Falco, dragged along by Jackie.
Rebecca leapt onto James's back instantly.
"We haven't fought together in ages!"
James laughed.
"I'll buy you a drink."
"No."
"Strawberry sundae."
"…Deal."
Lucy's attention never left Sasha.
Then James spoke.
"You look beautiful tonight, Sasha."
Lucy stepped on his foot.
Hard.
James winced dramatically.
Sasha smiled knowingly.
Lucy felt something was wrong.
James quietly retreated.
The Warning
Maine proudly revealed his upgraded arm—a built-in launcher.
"I'm upgrading further," he bragged. "Military-grade Sandevistan."
James frowned.
"Your body can't handle it."
Maine laughed—until his arm started shaking.
Silence fell.
James stared.
"How much have your inhibitor doses increased?"
Dorio answered quietly.
"Twenty percent."
The mood shattered.
"Get checked by Viktor tomorrow." James said firmly.
Maine refused.
James flexed his knuckles.
Before things escalated—
A familiar figure approached.
Maine exhaled in relief.
"Gloria. You're finally here."
And the night, once again, moved forward.
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