You can't know Night City well, ever. It's always changin', always surprisin'. Part of its charm.

Bullets don't distinguish between tough and weak.

Once upon a time, people were talking to graves and nobody batted an eyelid, right?

Another sinner finds himself in the place he belongs to. A trunk.
Gustavo now suffers the purgatory he deserves. And perhaps has a moment to examine his conscience. Let's hope he finds it before the trunk opens back up.