“About time you got rid of the nose ring,” Jackie laughed as I walked out of Vik’s clinic. He just wrapped up for a late-night shift, so I thought I might invite him out. Finally took out my facial piercings, too. Had these since I was about 17 or 18, but what the hell, with everything else happening, figured it’s time to represent this new chapter of my life in a more mature light. Not that I mind the piercings, but I think it’s time I left that phase where it belonged.
Misty was asleep, leaving just the three of us for now, not that I had a problem with that. Vik really needed to get out of the basement more, and I was sick and tired of the horror show that is mercenary life. If there’s one thing Jackie taught me, it was to put my hair down every once in a while and allow myself to feel actual emotions for a change.
“Look at you, finally pulling your weight around here for once,” I teased him, “You should do that more often, my back needs a rest from all the carrying I’ve been doing lately.”
“Oh yeah?” he taunted me, “I’ll show ya pullin’ my weight!”
“Wait-no, no!” I playfully shouted as he effortlessly lifted me by the back up onto him like a backpack, giggling like a giant schoolboy the whole time. “Put me down!” I protested, “This is no way to treat a noble!”
“On the contrary, I’m just haulin’ you around like the pampered lady you are!” he fired back, Vik popping out of his clinic soon after to find us in a… bizarre position.
“Bah!” he laughed, “Cartel member carryin’ a samurai. Never know whatcha gonna find down an alley in Night City, huh.”
“Oh shut up!” I fired back, huge grins painted on all of our faces.
“Come on, Vik, live a little!” Jackie insisted as we dragged his hard-working ass out of the office, stethoscope and all. The guy was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even bother changing. Granted, I’m not exactly in a position to judge, considering I have a sword tied to my belt even though this was supposed to be a fun, nonviolent outing. Oh well, nobody’s perfect.
We stopped by at the Capitan Caliente for some burgers, chatting mostly with Vik about his own plans and ambitions. It’s not often I catch him outside the office to ask him these things, and I’m genuinely quite envious. Vik seems to be completely satisfied with his life right now, a shocker by any stretch in Night City. Normally people either want it all or just survival, somewhere in the middle’s hard to come by, much less someone who actually has what they’re after. Though I guess it shouldn’t surprise me; the guy worked hard for where he is today.
“What about you two?” Vik asked us as we headed out the door.
“You first, Jackie?” I nudged him.
“Hm. Want my own bar, want a good life and a family. Wanna not want for anything else, know what I mean? Get fat, sit my ass down on a real leather couch, watch my huge TV with my homies and my girl, live the good life. Wanna make a name for myself in this town.” He can – and indeed has – ranted on and on for over an hour at a time about this. I found it oddly cute and comforting that he had such lofty ambitions, yet somehow still seemed so down to Earth about everything. Jackie’d never admit it, but I think all he really wanted was a quiet life with Misty. All this showboating was him working out the kinks in his system.
“And you?” Vik asked me.
“I want Jackie to carry me some more,” I laughed.
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“Oh yeah? Fuckin’ pampered-ass gonk,” Jackie teased me before lifting me up by the hips onto his back with remarkable ease, “Hah, you’re lighter than I remember, you sick? Lost weight.”
“Well quit doing all the heavy lifting, then!” I bonked him on the back of the head as he carried me across the street. “Nah, but lemme think…” It genuinely took me a few seconds to come up with a good reply.
“Well?” Jackie coaxed.
“I… think I’d be comfortable as long as my friends are. I’ve seen both sides of the fence, they both have their perks. Which side I sit on doesn’t really concern me so much as knowing the people I love are happy.”
“Hm, an admirable goal,” Vik nodded, taking out his phone, “Okay, I gotta stop you there, ‘cause you two look adorable right now.”
“Oh-oh! W-wait! No!” I shouted, trying desperately to climb off Jackie’s shoulders while he kept throwing me back on there. I couldn’t help myself but laugh hysterically as I got tossed around like a cat, finally bound in a leglock as Vik quickly snapped a bunch of shots. “Okay, okay, I give up!” I banged on Jackie’s side as I relaxed, no longer a care in the world to who was passing by and getting a look right up my backside.
“Nah, but lemme think…” I paused, not satisfied with the answer I gave Vik as I dismounted off Jackie, “That’s what I want for my friends, but for me? I think I want a nice relationship, a couple of children, and a house by the ocean. I want to live somewhere outside of a city, me and a lovely wife, raising our kids behind a white picket fence. I want to hang up my sword over a fireplace and finally put it in permanent retirement.”
“Oh? That why you keep fightin’?” Jackie replied earnestly.
“I could ask you the same thing, right? You know you’re also sitting on a good chunk of money?”
“Shh!” Jackie hushed me, “Don’t let Vik hear! I owe 'im quite a bit.” Viktor shook his head and laughed at our strange conversations; I think it’s something everyone’s got to get used to at some point.
I bet if someone were to ever ask me, in a serious manner, why I fight, I’d probably freeze up or simply bullshit an excuse. Mostly because I have little desire of dredging up the shit I worked so hard to bury in the first place.
I spent my whole life fighting. I fought my parents growing up. I fought with sparring partners and instructors since I was four and first handled a sword. I fought to get into Arasaka, to get to American shores, against Militech, Night Corp, Zetatech, and the ESA. I fought against Maelstrom, the Valentinos, scavs, and every last gangbanger in between. So what even am I, if not a fighter? What’s left should I lay down my sword? What else was I even meant for?
I remember watching this documentary on Saburo Arasaka, himself descended from a long and proud samurai lineage. It talked about his time in World War II, during Guadalcanal. The Americans took us completely by surprise, conducting an expertly-crafted campaign of island-hopping despite only months having passed since they joined the war.
Saburo was stationed at Lakunai Airfield when the Americans launched the Guadalcanal campaign; he was already an accomplished pilot by that point, flying his A6M2 Zero in formation along with a handful of bombers targeting the island. The enemy retaliated in-force, however, with an F4F firing a .50 caliber burst that pierced his cockpit, shattering his left arm and sending shrapnel into his skull and left eye. Saburo was critically-injured, but somehow managed to make the flight home and was prepped for emergency surgery. He spent his recovery in my hometown of Yokosuka, in fact, before being discharged as a civilian. He could never fight again.
The utter disgrace that man experienced was nothing short of mythical to us fellow samurai. In a single instant, he had gone from an ace pilot with the respect of his men to a cripple, suffering the greatest dishonor of us all: not being allowed to die an honorable death in combat. He ruminated in this state for many years, being unable to cope with the shame he felt, and having apparently considered seppuku numerous times before his great epiphany to see Japan rise again through his father’s business: Arasaka Corporation.
How different the world would be had he gone through with it and did end up taking his life. Instead, he served as inspiration to many, and monster to many times more. As a young girl, I fell under the former, captivated by his speeches of loyalty, honor, and duty. I saw it as a natural extension to being a samurai. It wasn’t until I went to the Americas that I realized I wasn’t searching for an answer to what it means to be a samurai. I was looking for… something else. Something more personal. Something I have yet to identify, myself. A riddle I was prepared to fight for and die for. Part of me, therefore, is scared that if I stop fighting, I may never truly figure it out, and I may end my life never fully knowing who I really am. So I will fight on until I do, one way or another.
