Chapter Text
Her life had become rather routine by this point. Granted, the routine never became easier, but it was a routine all the same. It kept her sane.
Lucy stared at herself in the mirror, placing a finger to her cheek and pulling at the skin to inspect a blemish that had appeared overnight. She was aware these things could pop up from stress, and further aware that she’d been left enough money not just to stay on the moon for all time, buy a few hundred celebration dinners, and so on - but also enough to just zap ‘em. Gone. Like that. She’d snap her fingers if she were telling anyone about it.
There was nobody around to tell. Hadn’t been for years.
Lucy pushed herself from the mirror, and shuffled over to get dressed, throwing on the set of clothes she’d laid out earlier that morning. She had no plans to go out today - onto the surface, anyhow. She never thought she’d say it, but she’d grown rather tired of walking on the surface every single day.
Every time she did, she was his face - smiling and shouting. It only served to make the isolation worse.
Fucking gonk.
The idea had occurred to her once to spend a large chunk of the fortune she’d been left - one of her own building, and another built on blood and tears, left not just by David (though, primarily him), but by the others who’d gone out, which just so happened to be inherited by David - on undergoing some expensive, invasive procedure that would, in a fashion similar to her blemish, zap away the memories.
The thought that she’d even considered it had driven her into a sobbing fit that lasted days, and she was dragged out only by the intervention of staff during a welfare check. She was wealthy enough to be cared about, now. She couldn’t tell if she hated the idea or adored the pampering.
Guh. Not the right thing to think of.
She had to get ready for the coming week - financially, emotionally, and every single -ly in between, with some change. Or, however the expression went. She had about a week to do that, before touching back down on Earth for a brief reverse-vacation. She had a job to do - not a gig, mind you, she was absolutely done with those and, following the fiasco of the last year or so, was in no rush to get back into the biz.
This was a job of her own making.
To her memory, the columbarium was still situated in North Oak, with spots open for the soon-to-be-forgotten dead. She’d heard David had a drink named after him in the Afterlife, and though that was little comfort, it was still some. Rebecca, though? Pilar - much as she disliked him? Maine? Fuck, even Julio, who she’d only heard about from time to time? They deserved something, right?
But what about, you know, her? That one. The stain in her memories that seemed to weasel its way into every humiliating memory, every drunk in Faraday’s pool and every muted conversation during what she’d hoped would be her retirement. A busy retirement, mind you, dropping anyone she wagered posed a threat to her or David, but a retirement all the same.
Fucking Kiwi.
Her mind was split between sadness - grief, maybe - and bitter, bitter fucking hatred. She couldn’t blame herself for either. She was a grown woman, emotionally mature enough to realize that feelings were complex, and, seeing as she was racked with grief for a variety of losses, she had all the right in the world to not know precisely where her head was at.
She would have to think about that a little longer. She would continue to do so, despite her best wishes. Despite sometimes wishing she had no memory of anything, and woke up one day on the moon, simply aware she was here, and not there. Maybe, just maybe, she’d give Kiwi a little spot in the columbarium, with some note about not trusting a soul in Night City.
At least the bitch wasn’t alive.
That was some comfort.
Lucy stared out at the surface of the moon and, lifting her eyes, stared holes into the surface of the Earth.
Yes, that was some comfort. Not a soul down there would know her.
Not a soul she gave a shit about was alive.