Viktor's Clinic
A swarm of butterflies flowed through the ventilation ducts and rushed to the corner of what had once been Kiwi and Faelan's room. There, a circle of roots hidden behind a metal crate opened slightly—just enough to let the newcomers in and allow them to descend into the underground chamber beneath Vik's clinic, where they reformed into Faelan.
"I'm back," he said calmly, removing the cloak and mask that served as a disguise and hanging them on a wooden hook.
After four years, both Kiwi and Faelan had grown to the age of twelve. With their newfound freedom—both of movement and finances—they were finally able to begin developing their true potential and pursuing more personal goals.
Faelan noticed Kiwi was immersed in a brain dance, so after glancing at which one she was using out of curiosity, he quietly stepped away to avoid disturbing her.
(Smart weapon handling brain dance.)
They didn't even own one of those yet, but Kiwi was always thinking ahead.
Faelan looked around and nodded in satisfaction. His dream of a Batcave was finally complete.
Since he didn't have implants to accelerate learning, it took him two years to fully absorb the architectural knowledge required to build a secure area that wouldn't collapse Vik's clinic. Then he needed another two months to hollow out a large space and reinforce the area discreetly, plus an extra month to install everything with Kiwi's help, including specialized signal inhibitors.
Currently, most of the underground space was an open, flexible area that they used as needed. If they ever needed more room, Faelan could always expand it or add another basement. Whether walls or ceiling, everything was reinforced and compressed with roots, dotted with lights, ventilation systems, pipes, and other basic necessities.
The place was self-sufficient, and they could live there indefinitely if they wanted.
Kiwi took one half of the space and filled it with monitors, server towers, cooling systems, assorted wiring, a workshop with tools, and so on.
It's worth noting that every part of this place was built from scratch by the two of them using their experience in the factory, and reprogrammed by Kiwi—so there was no hidden monitoring via microchips or latent software. Sure, it took them forever to keep adding equipment, but better safe than sorry—information is a valuable asset in this city.
That's why there were no cameras or microphones installed anywhere—nothing that could be hacked to extract dangerous intel about them.
The other half belonged to Faelan. There, he not only grew the organic food they both consumed (and sold to Galina), but also carried out experiments and tried to explore his traps.
For example, he confirmed that he could make wine the old-fashioned way and use his druidic magic to rapidly age the sealed drink with natural results. In a week, he could have the equivalent of a twenty-year-old slow-matured bottle.
Viktor got addicted to his wine the moment he tasted it. He didn't even ask them to help out in the clinic anymore—just a couple of bottles per month were enough for him. And if he wanted more, he paid fairly or exchanged them for things that were harder for the two of them to get on their own due to various reasons.
And they weren't cheap! Though Vik always got a decent discount…
"That reminds me—I have to make another delivery to Galina," he said, turning toward the garden and placing his hand on the ground, causing light to spread across the perfectly moist dark soil. "Let's see, this week's order was twenty-five kilos of tomatoes, ten kilos of peas, six kilos of apples, and three bottles of wine."
He weighed out the ingredients and packed them into wooden crates he created on the spot. He left a note for Kiwi, put on his signal-blocking goggles, and climbed the spiral staircase set aside for himself and Kiwi in human form.
As he exited the clinic through a door that, from the outside, looked like a broom closet and made his way to the delivery point, anyone who could have seen below his feet would have noticed several crates following him like moles underground, avoiding pipes, corridors, and wiring via seemingly living roots.
Truth be told, Faelan was still surprised that Sasha's mother knew someone who ran a restaurant—it seemed odd given her own situation.
He didn't even remember there being any "real" restaurants in the city—just fast-food places with highly questionable ingredients.
When Galina and Kiwi started communicating, it didn't take long for them to reach a new arrangement—one that quickly became the duo's main source of income.
Sure, Kiwi had mentioned more than once that they could deal directly with Gordon, but he insisted Galina should always act as the intermediary. Seeing they weren't getting anywhere, Kiwi shrugged and agreed.
He could understand the appeal of cutting out middlemen for higher profits, but in business, connections carry undeniable weight.
Besides, the difference in profit wasn't significant enough to risk losing their main client—especially one who didn't care and didn't want to know where the goods came from, only how much he could order and how often.
Oh, and Gordon wasn't the only one—Galina still had to work and earn her cut as the middlewoman and eventually secured several other buyers over time. However, these clients only cautiously ordered small amounts—barely a couple of kilos of a single ingredient per month.
The only reason the business didn't expand further, despite its extreme profitability (after all, the cost was zero), was due to the lack of legal documentation and records.
Faelan had been saving for years to buy a large, cheap plot of land in the badlands to legalize everything with Gordon's help—terraforming the area to turn it into a greenhouse/forest.
He asked Kiwi for help verifying real estate prices, and compared to city plots—absurdly priced and almost monopolized by corporations—the badlands were so cheap that Faelan and Kiwi thought there had been a typo when inputting the number of zeros in the land value.
Vik was casually nearby as they studied the outside world, and when he saw their confusion, he explained that the main reason it was so cheap was that no one had wanted to invest in the area for years. Nothing grew there but a few wilted shrubs, and the cost of security and frequent gang attacks meant all investment money vanished into thin air.
It had become "common sense" that investing in the badlands was like setting your money on fire.
Only a few businesses, like solar panel farms or fueling stations, were considered safe—mostly because everyone found them convenient.
As for potential spying from Biotechnica and other megacorps once the place was up and running, Faelan wasn't worried. He might even offer services to help greenify the city once he was in a good position. After all, many companies have "trade secrets," and he already had a few ideas he wanted to try.
Regarding his repeated operations against the scavengers...
They were simply the perfect test subjects for experimenting with trap combinations and ideas. Even if not, just being able to release the suppression of SCP-166's effect from time to time was already a huge relief—not to mention combining it with druidic magic.
And since doing that also tended to destroy nearby cameras and recordings, it eventually turned into a rumor.
Which he gladly capitalized on.
Ever since, whenever he wanted to go out and test something new, he wore a disguise.
"Though I do wonder what the hell Dorio was doing there," he muttered, scratching his head through the hood, recognizing Maine's future partner by her distinctive tomboyish appearance. "Judging by the bag, I guess she found out about the scavengers' deaths and wanted to retrieve something. But what was she hoping to find? Everything was wrecked because of me."
Not that he had thoroughly searched the warehouse—there were too many crates to waste time opening them one by one…
Maybe something important had been missed? Possibly. Since he couldn't carry large objects with him when transformed, he usually ignored whatever was stored in those hideouts. At most, he'd crack the boss's safe, transfer money from their accounts to his Pip-Boy, maybe grab something interesting, and leave.
The funny part was that the money he "collected" from those raids still couldn't compare to the income from selling organic produce. Mid- and low-tier mercs lived rather miserable, on-the-edge lives…
"Maybe I should listen to Kiwi and get an optical implant for the Pip-Boy—even a Kiroshi Mk.1 would be enough," he sighed, glancing at the archaic but functional device on his wrist. "At least then it could scan the surroundings for me. But the thought of someone silently hacking my optics and spying on me still bugs me. Maybe I could add a manual shutter to cover the eye when I'm not using it?"
His path didn't take him to Galina and Sasha's old apartment. After four years of making good money and fulfilling her dream of sending her boss flying out a window, Galina had moved into a two-story standalone house with a basement, located closer to the coast, in a somewhat safer area.
Although the houses looked like copy-paste models along the street, Sasha's school was closer, fewer shady people loitered around, and there was noticeably less trash.
Probably because people just threw it into the sea, if he had to guess.
If it weren't for a few hobos exchanging small bags of unknown contents in certain corners, graffiti with awful grammar, and idiots using questionable brain dances with inappropriate mods in slightly secluded areas, it might even seem like a decent neighborhood!
At least the overall vibe was better than the one David had to walk through to get to Arasaka Academy—he hadn't seen anyone get mugged at gunpoint on the way there.
The house was painted a bright yellow, and the rest of the houses had a similar color scheme—perhaps to cheer up the surroundings—but the peeling paint suggested the place wasn't as new as it appeared or that the contractor had used paint without considering the salinity in the air due to the proximity to the sea.
After ringing the doorbell, the door opened and Faelan was greeted with the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his temple.
"You scared?"
"You know, this was intimidating when you first started doing it… what, a couple of years ago?" Faelan didn't bother to push the barrel away, but nodded toward the small camera by the door. "Don't tell me you didn't see who rang the bell."
Galina stared at him for several long seconds.
"Tch!" The woman clicked her tongue and stashed the weapon in the closet next to the door with the casualness of someone putting away their keys. "You're always so covered up. How am I supposed to know it's you and not some impersonator?"
Oh. Fair point.
"That's fair."
Faelan had been improving his coverage in that regard. Even though he now knew more people personally, neither Galina, Sasha, nor even Gordon had ever seen him without his hood or glasses. Sure, they could recognize him by his unique presence, but they still hit a wall whenever they tried to scan the face under the shades.
Such caution, even after years of collaboration, was a little admirable… and frustrating.
But Faelan wasn't about to loosen up—he wanted to avoid repeating the incident with Vik as much as possible. Speaking of Vik, he'd been kind enough to get him better jammers in exchange for six bottles of forty-year-old aged wine.
They weren't the latest model, but they were generations ahead of the ones Faelan had been forced to use in the beginning.
"Did you bring the goods?" Galina leaned forward and looked around.
"They're already in the basement, next to the van."
"Again?!" Galina tried to smack him in the back of the head, but Faelan was expecting it and dodged easily as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "I told you to stop doing that!"
She had some heavier weapons down there, for... personal defense.
The fact that Faelan could still sneak in and drop off the boxes drove her nuts!
She had no idea that the reason Faelan kept doing it was specifically to annoy her. Maybe she was affectionate toward her daughter, but she believed in tough love for every other kid!
Dealing with Sasha was much more pleasant, especially since she became Kiwi's "tutor" to teach her what she was learning at school. That soon developed into what could best be described as a competitive friendship.
"Are you thinking something rude?" Galina narrowed her eyes.
"No doubt."
"You little—! Ugh…" Galina took a deep breath. She knew better than to let herself get dragged into the rhythm of this conversation—it would only end with her blood pressure rising and her looking for something to shoot or punch.
This kid had gotten way bolder since their first meeting!
The fact that they'd ended up working together long-term didn't mean she'd stopped trying to get intel on Faelan discreetly—though not with much success. Only later, when she started hearing rumors about emerald-green butterflies, did she immediately make the connection to the kid.
Now, about his little issue with the scavengers?
She didn't care. The fewer of those bastards in the city, the better for everyone. Too bad they were the kind of vermin that, even if you cleaned the streets of them, more would crawl out a week later.
What was amazing was that Faelan was good at dealing with them—so good that within a few years, he had them pissing oil at the mere thought of crossing paths with him.
On the other hand, her information about him was still limited.
She knew his first name, but not his last.
She knew Kiwi, had a rough idea of their relationship and personality, which is why she allowed them to meet her daughter. Good results—the competitiveness with Kiwi was helping Sasha grow her potential.
One thing she was certain about was that Faelan was incredibly cautious about showing his face or head in general. She didn't get it—she was sure he didn't have any scars or anything like that—but the kid got serious if she tried anything.
He also liked playing the mysterious type, never explaining tricks like the butterflies.
But what puzzled her the most was that the kid was completely organic—not a single trace of chrome. The most tech she'd ever seen on him was that weird bracelet he called a Pip Boy and the upgraded jamming glasses, which had clearly improved since they first met.
"Any reason you asked me to deliver everything earlier than usual?" Faelan asked.
Galina snapped out of her thoughts and nodded.
"Actually, there's something I want to discuss with you." They both sat at the dining table—Sasha was still at school, it seemed. "Some friends of mine died a year ago under complicated circumstances."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thanks." Galina nodded and absentmindedly rubbed her leg, a conditioned reflex from a past injury. "They had a daughter—older than you. After she was left alone, and since my situation improved, I offered to let her live with us. But she's proud and insists she's an adult and can take care of herself," she explained, shifting a bit in her seat. "Not long ago, I heard from her again and found out she became a merc about six months ago, working with a rookie fixer. She's not making a fortune, just barely getting by."
Faelan frowned at the situation.
Two rookies teaming up in that sector that eats people's bones?
Yeah, that smelled like early death waiting to happen.
"And what does that have to do with me?" Faelan gave her a puzzled look. "I don't work with fixers—actually, I avoid them if I can, you know why."
Faelan was well aware that Galina knew he was the boogeyman of the scavengers, but they had an unspoken agreement not to mention it.
"I thought maybe we could… you could give her a steady job, so she could earn honest money without needing to get involved with gangs or dangerous gigs. She's trying to satisfy her ego, prove she's a grown-up, but really she just wants someone to hug her and say everything's okay," Galina said, rubbing the back of her neck. "Maybe something like escorting the goods to the clients, making sure the deliveries go smoothly, you know?"
Galina felt a little weird having this kind of conversation—especially when the other party was technically her boss… and twelve years old.
"You want to hire her as some kind of glorified security guard to deliver my goods to Gordon's restaurant and the others across the city?" Faelan tried to process the unexpected request. "I don't think it's a good idea. Actually, it screams trouble."
Kiwi would probably add a few less polite words to the conversation, since Galina was basically asking them to pay someone to do something they were already handling just fine themselves.
They were making money, but there were also times in their plans when they needed to spend a lot, and every eddy saved mattered.
"Hey, she's stubborn, but I swear her moral compass won't be a problem," Galina defended.
"It's not about her moral compass—we just don't need anyone right now." Faelan shook his head. "Setting aside everything else, you said she's been working as a duo with someone. You know her—if she gets this job and has to leave her fixer partner behind, will she? Because even if, hypothetically, she accepts your idea, I'm not hiring anyone else."
"That..."
"And assuming she accepts the 'job' and does it well," Faelan said, making air quotes, "after that, don't you think the fixer will want to know where she went or why? And that's without even knowing if she'll say yes—what if she refuses because she's gotten used to that kind of life?"
"Delivering goods is part of a merc's job."
"Yeah—in dark alleys that smell like piss, with two guns aimed at your head, dealing with people who don't tell you what you're delivering, only when, where, and to whom," he replied. "Plus, there's still the fixer issue. I refuse to believe she won't try something."
Even if he really did Galina the favor, the risk of involving a resentful fixer was too high, in his opinion.
"Alright," Galina leaned back on the couch. "Let's say I didn't say anything. Still, wouldn't you need someone for another kind of job?" she tried another angle. "If you're short on muscle for something, she's a good option."
"Galina," Faelan raised a hand to stop her, "the core problem here isn't the girl you're talking about or whether we're willing to help—it's the fixer currently employing her. She'll get too curious no matter what we do or how it turns out."
If they really needed help, then Kiwi would've already contacted Regina Jones, who operated in the Watson area. It wouldn't be hard—half the clients at Vik's clinic were Regina's people, and they'd occasionally greet them.
There were even times those people helped out on the street when some punks tried to mess with them—because from their point of view, they were "Vik's kids."
And if there's one thing everyone knows, it's that keeping your ripperdoc happy is always a smart move. It could earn you the occasional discount or an early tip when rare implants came in.
Regina was among the best fixers they could possibly hire. She focused mainly on jobs involving investigation, security, discreet cleanups, rescues, or neutralizing cyberpsychos.
Compared to others in the same line of work, she leaned toward less violent methods.
But the problem remained: she's a fixer. As soon as she receives a job offer, she'll investigate the client and everything involved. It's professionalism and common sense to stay alive and reach the top positions—being close to Vik wouldn't change that.
So Kiwi and he could go from being Vik's "stray kids," barely a footnote, to having a whole file dedicated to their full information.
"I think you're being overly cautious," Galina said, raising a finger and wagging it from side to side. "We're not talking about a veteran fixer with contacts everywhere and a name that carries weight. She's a rookie who's just been picking up the scraps from other people's gigs."
Her honest opinion was that the fixer was fairly mediocre.
Galina was honestly confused when she saw the fixer's record. Taking on these kinds of jobs for so long was practically shouting to the world that she was content to stay at the bottom of the food chain.
If she wanted to rise and make a name for herself, she had to successfully complete higher-tier gigs—and for that, she needed people who could keep up.
Such a cautious approach was bound to yield only crumbs. Just enough to survive—not thrive!
She even briefly thought the fixer might be like Gordon, someone whose life was already sorted out and just wanted to kill time somehow.
After all, who gets into this world without ambition?
Faelan paused and considered it. In truth, maybe he was exaggerating—projecting the level of caution he reserved for people like Faraday or Dexter DeShawn onto someone far less capable and with limited resources.
Besides, Galina had made a valid point.
They didn't have anyone who could take on the role of muscle the way Maine, Dorio, or Rebecca did on their crew.
Faelan had his traps and, outside of those, acted more like the hardware guy (a bit like Pilar), with growing knowledge in biology and some basic architectural skills.
Kiwi, on her end, was more focused on netrunning—keeping up with information and managing accounts.
Even though they didn't need someone to storm a scavs' fortress dual-wielding heavy machine guns and chewing on explosives, having someone to delegate physical tasks that they found troublesome might not be such a bad idea.
"Give me some time. I'll talk it over with Kiwi," Faelan finally conceded, reluctantly, but without making any promises.