Jet and Open | Lost in Chaos
Jet stumbled out of the bar, almost tripping over the cracked curb and into the street. It was still lively at a quarter past two in the Old Downtown, boosters and hookers marketing their wares along the streets. Bums less (or more) fortunate than he curled up in the gutters and ignored the bustle around them, snoring softly. Neon signs and lights blinked and stuttered in the dark alleys, inviting late-night customers. For the third night in a row, Jet was inebriated beyond what was probably wise, the cheap whiskey keeping him warm despite the cool Night City air. Most importantly, it numbed everything. While the spirit flowed through his veins, he forgot about the sleepless nights, the constant worry after Riley, the persistent tingle that forced him to glance over his shoulder every five minutes or less in fear of hostile eyes. He was abruptly jostled to the side as someone darted past him, a red sequined purse in hand. A woman in black heels pursued him minutes later, yelling and cursing and sobbing. No-one stopped to help, and Jet watched numbly as the thief wove through the thin crowd, quickly gaining distance before disappearing around the block.
‘Is this what the world has been reduced to?’ he thought. ‘Chaos and crime reigning supreme.’ It didn’t matter whether you lived in West Hill and worked for the biggest companies in the corporate sector, or slummed it out in the dingiest part of the Old Downtown – corruption and disorder permeated everything. Whatever God had once created the world had long abandoned Night City to the murderers, the thieves, the corrupt, and the cruel. The only way to survive was to keep your head down, ignore the wrong, and scavenge what you could to live. If it could be called that.
He paused in front of another bar, the whiskey buzz already beginning to wear off in the cold. He’d been building up his tolerance frightfully quickly, and it probably should have suggested that he should stop, or at least slow down. Jet dug into his pockets and counted a few coins of change. He sighed and kept on walking. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice that he’d nearly run into someone until they said something.
“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing up. “M’sorry.” He suddenly noticed that they’d dropped something and cursed, kneeling to help pick it up. “Shit, I’m pretty clumsy tonight. S’one of those days, y’know?” His words and pathetic apologies still slurred together.
