Chapter 32 - Rafael
A waiter drone zips overhead as Rafael slips into his booth, the cyan leather creaking under him. The sound barely carries over the chaos of Terra’s Diner, drowned beneath the chatter of packed tables and synth-pop blaring from hidden speakers.
He straightens in his seat. The same drone glides over to the next table and drops off a stack of waffles. Rafael forces his eyes to the glowing menu in his hands. Over a hundred meals under ninety-nine credits, and somehow none of them look remotely appealing.
Every dish seems to tie back to Kane. Donuts from his final day in Shreveport. Sandwiches from their rooftop date. Steak from the man’s last visit to his apartment.
Anything he orders will taste hollow by comparison. Synthetic slush pretending to be real. He exhales, shoulders slouching.
The parallel is hard to ignore.
Maybe that’s why the breakup felt inevitable. If VitaCorp hadn’t uncovered them, someone else would’ve.
This is for the best. This is right. Or so he keeps telling himself.
Pushing the thoughts aside, he shifts his focus to the menu. His parents will be here any minute for their monthly dinner. If only Maria were joining them, too.
“Sorry we’re late!”
Rafael looks up at the familiar voice just as his mother slides into the booth across from him.
Still in her yellow medical scrubs, she nudges his father along by the arm until he’s seated beside her.
Unlike her, his father is dressed comfortably in a matching sweat set, dark medical glasses shielding his eyes.
“Your father insisted on coming,” she groans. “Even though he just had his optics upgraded. The doctor said he should rest, but…well, you know how he is.”
Rafael’s eyes widen. “You had the procedure today?” He reaches across the table and covers his father’s hand. “Dad, are you okay? We can always reschedule if you need to.”
“I’m fine!” His father laughs, patting Rafael’s hand. “I can…mostly see. But once everything settles, they said I’ll be able to experience a whole new world. Colors beyond the spectrum, edges sharp enough to slice air, stars brighter than a telescope could ever show.”
Unease coils in Rafael’s gut. He’s heard this exact speech in ads all throughout the hospital. Though grating, it was easy to dismiss as typical VitaCorp marketing, a lot harder straight from his father’s mouth.
Still, he forces a smile, not wanting to ruin the mood. “Sounds amazing!”
“Amazing for him, maybe,” Rafael’s mother snatches a holo menu. “But now I have to order for him, hold doors—practically everything. Our assistant drone’s out of commission until we can afford the upgrade.” Her dark eyes narrow at his father. “Which we can’t do until we pay this off…”
“The cost is coming out of my paycheck,” his father mutters. It’s the opening line of an argument Rafael knows by heart.
Thankfully, a waiter drone swoops in with complimentary coffee and order confirmation.
Once they’re alone, his mother sinks into the booth. “So, Rafael…” Her voice is soft yet curious. “How have you been?”
He takes a sip of his coffee, buying some time.
It’s been three days since the breakup, three days of going back to life like usual. Yet nothing has shifted his mood, unable to forget the gang leader from Shreveport.
But his parents don’t know Kane existed. Lian and the others only got “distance” as the reason for their break. And now, with his mother’s rigid shoulder and his father nodding absently to the music, Rafeal can’t bear giving a hint to the truth.
“Not bad. What about you?” He shrugs.
“Oh, the usual.” His mother hums, tapping the table. “Working doubles, staying in shape, and managing your sister.” Her tone shifts sharply. “She’s moved out again—to the slums, of all places. For an anarchist boyfriend. Can you believe her?”
“Really?” Rafael’s pulse jumps. Maria never mentioned this. Then again, they’ve barely talked lately, exchanging only a few short V-link sessions where neither of them said much.
His mom scoffs. “I won’t be surprised when she ends up in a VitaCorp hospital bed. Or jail. Or worse, blacklisted.” She waves a hand. “Most likely she’ll be back in a few weeks, crying to move back in.”
“And we’ll welcome her,” Rafael’s father singsongs, drawing a glare from his wife. “She’s just following her heart. Something you wouldn’t understand…”
“Guys—” He only manages one word.
“Because I convinced you to take more college classes instead of blowing all our credits on art supplies? Be realistic, Julian. It’s not 2040. We have no use for ‘artists’ when there’s AI.”
“Ana, if everyone thought like you, do you think we’d have all this advanced tech and medicine? No! We’d be living like those lunatics in the Rust Valley!”
Nearby customers peer over as his father’s voice climbs.
Heat rushes to Rafael’s cheeks. He’s about to step in again when a flat, cheerful voice cuts in.
“Your orders are ready. Thanks for visiting Terra’s! Feeding the nation since 2075.”
A waiter drone hovers beside the table with a tray of food. His parents grin as if nothing happened, and Rafael lets out a breath, grabbing his plate. The drone whirs off toward the kitchen, leaving him with chocolate chip pancakes he used to inhale as a kid.
The first bite is warm and familiar until the synthetic sweetness kicks in, leaving a faint bitterness on his tongue.
He swallows and looks across the table. His mother’s attention has drifted to a vidscreen flickering above their booth. The Premiere Corp logo pulses in the corner while an AI anchor rattles off the evening’s headlines.
Her jaw tightens. She snaps her gaze to Rafael.
“Speaking of trouble—did you hear about that gang robbery near Premiere Billiards? Some poor woman was ambushed at an HOV stop.”
Rafael’s grip on his fork tightens. “What?” No matter what happened between them, he prays Kane’s crew isn’t involved. Though petty theft doesn’t seem like their style.
She nods. “A gang from Brinewood, apparently.” His fingers ease. Not Shreveport. “They pushed her down, threatened her, and swiped her wristlink.”
“I hope she’s okay,” Rafael says. The words come easily, but the memory that rises with them doesn’t.
Wren’s rifle pressed against his spine, pushing him into the van.
Except their situations aren’t remotely the same.
His wasn’t random violence. It was the only option Kane had left to keep Echo alive.
His father chimes in before he can sit with the thought. “Premiere Club ID’d the attackers. Something about upgraded sensors. Hopefully, VitaCorp and the others have the same tech now. Then we can lock them all up, huh? Let the rest of us live in peace.”
He stares down at his plate. Rafael should agree. This is the life he chose.
Still, the idea of Kane or anyone in his crew locked away twists a knot inside him. They aren’t the monsters people here imagine. They’re the ones holding Shreveport together, stepping in where the corps and the city refuse. Maybe his parents would understand that, too, if they knew the truth.
Rafael hesitates, fork suspended, searching for the right place to begin.
“Is something wrong?” his mother asks, leaning forward. Her brows draw together, and his father’s frown mirrors hers.
“I—” Rafael starts, then stops, startled by the urge to say more.
What would he even tell them? That he knows some of these so-called criminals? That not everything happening outside Midtown fits neatly into good and bad? Any part of that would spark arguments and lead to questions he can’t begin to answer.
So he takes the easier path. “Nothing. Just thinking about something I need to do at work.”
His parents exchange a relieved smile.
They slip into a discussion about VitaCorp’s new time-off policies while Rafael settles into his seat.
This is what peace looks like here. What he wanted.
A flashing vidscreen catches his eye when he reaches for his coffee, a promo for an upcoming cyber-gladiator tournament.
His chest aches. Kane would’ve grinned at the ad, tossed out some comment about these newbie fighters, then argue over who’s going to take the title.
Rafael doesn’t let the memory linger.
That part of his life is over.
He turns back to his parents, who are sharing a rare laugh, and offers them another practiced smile.