The billboard bursts to life. A thin kid in round goggles and a white fang mask sprints into frame. His form screams speed, every stride wringing the last acceleration drop from muscle and chrome. The camera keeps pace as the city streaks by in light bands. Three armed enemies slide into view ahead and lift their guns in unison.
The runner palmed a slim green vial and jabbed it into his side.
His already-fast pace sharpened into something razor-sharp. Green trails spooled off his back, sketching his path as he slid low, knifed between muzzle flashes, and popped up in their faces. Bullets brushed sleeves and air, chasing outlines that refused to be where they had been a heartbeat ago—three squeezes, three bodies down.
The lens pushed close. The kid held a fresh, unopened vial to the glass and grinned.
"Run fast. Fight fast. Win fast. Ascension Technology Power Stimulant. Feel like you're flying. Always one step ahead. Leave Death in the dust. Co-produced with Arasaka Pharmaceutical Laboratory. Quality guaranteed. Price you can live with."
The frame froze to a glossy poster. A bold slogan filled the screen and caught commuters like a hook. The concept was Rocky's, the face modeled on a "speedster" archetype he liked. With the press-conference heat still climbing, Ascension's ads rolled out across Night City in every format the city would take. Seeing one at the station didn't surprise David.
There were smaller placements too, the kind that hide in your periphery until you need them:
"Working late and running on fumes? Take a Power Stimulant. One small shot keeps you wired all night."
The NCART train slid in. David boarded and rode across town to Ascension Technology.
"Mr. David Martinez, welcome to Ascension Technology. Chairman L is currently in a meeting. Please proceed to the reception room and wait. I will notify him immediately."
The lobby reception AI checked his ID, unlocked the gate, and rendered a soft arrow to guide him. Inside, the office floors felt alive. Staff moved between desks and glassed-in rooms with a tight purpose. The fixtures were not Corpo Plaza luxury, but every corridor looked considered and clean, a place built for people to work without wasting steps.
He passed a bullpen. Through a transparent wall, one employee hammered a terminal with the focused rhythm of someone five tasks deep. A document left his queue, another arrived, then three more. The man rubbed at his eyes, opened the right-hand drawer, took a green injector, and pressed it into his side. The fog lifted from his face as if someone had turned the room up a lumen. He leaned back into the feed and kept going.
That, David realized, was the Power Stimulant.
He looked left and right. He wasn't the only one watching. And the worker at the terminal wasn't the only one using it. Across the floor, other desks had the identical green vials half-hidden under task lists. Inject, focus snaps back, sprint again. The acceleration window was short, but the mental edge lingered, and Ascension issued it as an on-hand tool for peak periods. It made a particular kind of sense in Night City math.
David didn't know that the man at that terminal wasn't a true-believer workaholic. He was an undercover plant who regretted taking the assignment the moment the workload hit. He had planned to coast. Overtime here was optional, and Rocky didn't push hours. However, once a few "model" employees started going full tilt, the rest followed or risked falling behind. Under the pressure of that comparison loop, the floor's "exemplary" undercover hires drove themselves harder than anyone, and Ascension looked more energetic than ever. Rocky noticed and, amused, stocked the stimulant as an unlimited "benefit" for teams chewing through the launch spike.
David looked away and followed the arrow into the reception room. The noise of the office faded to a calm, carpeted quiet. A concierge stood to greet him.
"Welcome, Mr. Martinez. Please have a seat. Chairman L is still in a meeting. Would you like something to drink?"
"Water is fine. Thank you."
Polite service still felt new to him. He sat, sipped, and waited. The minutes stretched. His message pinged with an update.
"Mr. Martinez, Chairman L is waiting for you in his office. This way, please."