CYBERPUNK: Travel to 2075

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..Bills and Waste...

"You'd better wipe your face first."

After hesitating for a moment, Blanca handed Karl a handkerchief. "You can't walk around looking like that."

"What do I look like?" Karl asked, as he glanced around the room, searching for glass shards. He finally found a reflective surface, staring at his own image in the mirror. His face darkened. "I was wondering why my face felt sticky."

He used the handkerchief to clean off the blood and grime. Once finished, he handed it back to Blanca.

"Thanks."

'Would a normal person really wipe blood off their face with someone else's handkerchief and then hand it back without a second thought?' Blanca grimaced, but considering how well Karl had handled the situation, she took the blood-stained cloth back without complaining. She watched as Karl began sifting through the belongings of the dead Uzumaki gang members.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for money, guns—anything I can sell." Karl spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Blanca stared at him, bemused. Mercenaries, she realized, have different priorities. Meanwhile, she was from a wealthy background and wouldn't think twice about leaving money on the ground.

Karl spent the next ten minutes searching the bodies for valuables. Satisfied with his haul, the two of them finally headed downstairs. There was no reason to linger any longer.

At the entrance, Karl rifled through the possessions of the three dead men outside, then examined the car that had brought them. Unfortunately, he couldn't do much with it. Modern vehicles were equipped with advanced security and authentication procedures. Without proper hacking tools—which Karl had yet to master—he had no way to steal the car.

"Need a ride?" Karl offered, as a show of goodwill for how efficiently Blanca had paid him.

"No, my car's here," Blanca replied.

Karl watched as her prosthetic eyes flickered. Moments later, a sleek 'Villefort Curtis V5000 Courage' drove up automatically and stopped in front of them.

The driver's door opened. Blanca stepped in but left one foot on the ground. "Want me to give you a lift?"

For the first time, a small smile played on her lips. "Think of it as an investment in future business."

Karl considered it but declined. "I'll walk."

Blanca didn't insist. She waved goodbye, sat back in the driver's seat, and closed the door. Karl stood and watched as the car disappeared into the distance.

A few minutes later, he sighed. "That car must've cost at least 370,000 euros. I really should be charging more."

Fifty thousand euros had seemed like a good paycheck at first, but compared to Blanca's luxury car, it suddenly felt inadequate.

"Next time, I'll ask for more."

With bags slung over his shoulder, Karl began walking south through Watson District. As he walked, he found himself daydreaming. His thoughts wandered to a recent advertisement he'd seen for space travel.

'Want to fly among the stars? Want to set foot on the moon? It no longer takes 10 million euros to land on the moon. You don't even need 1 million. Now, with just 250,000 euros, you can embark on a three-day, two-night lunar tour…'

Lunar travel? The idea sparked Karl's curiosity. He wasn't opposed to the idea of exploring space, but then he saw the fine print: settling on the moon required additional fees and paperwork, totaling 5 million euros.

And that didn't include the cost of a house. Karl did some digging and found the price for a home on the moon: 100 million euros.

One hundred million.

He quickly did the math. He'd need to complete 2,000 jobs like Blanca's to make that kind of money. Assuming each job involved killing ten people, that meant killing 20,000 people. Not even the entire Uzumaki gang would be enough to reach that goal. It made more sense to try negotiating with a corporate exec instead.

Luckily, Karl wasn't planning on settling on the moon. A trip to the stars, however, might still be worth it one day. But the corporate ads he saw warning about the "safety and freedom" of space settlements made him skeptical. It seemed like no matter where you went, corporations still held all the power.

Whether bound by Earth's gravity or floating free in space, people remained under the control of forces brighter than the neon lights of Night City.

As he approached the southern part of Watson District, Karl's mind turned back to more immediate concerns: his money. After selling most of the weapons he'd collected—except for two Saratoga submachine guns—Karl's bank account had swelled to nearly 60,000 euros.

He decided to give one of the submachine guns to his friend Jack. Maybe he could lend some of his newfound cash to others in his circle, too. Karl's thoughts grew bolder, more extravagant, now that he had some extra money in his pocket.

He walked into a street-side restaurant and, feeling flush with cash, ordered a 20-euro rib steak. For the first time, he was willing to splurge.

In just two minutes, his meal arrived. It wasn't real steak, though. It was made from worm protein, with a decorative synthetic bone. The presentation was decent, 80% similar to the real thing.

But the taste?

Karl grimaced after the first bite.

"Well, that was a waste of money."

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