"Good morning, Old V."
William greeted with a faint smile as he stepped into the modest prosthetics shop.
The bell over the door gave a soft jingle, and the smell of disinfectant mixed with engine oil immediately filled his senses. The shop was dimly lit, cluttered with tools, spare implants, and old boxing posters that had begun to fade with time. At the counter, Old V — Victor, the one and only back-alley ripperdoc William trusted — was already preparing for the day's work.
"Morning, kid," Old V muttered. He set down a bundle of clothes on a chair and motioned toward the cybernetic surgery recliner in the corner. His voice carried the weariness of age but also the steady confidence of a man who had spent decades working with machines and flesh alike.
"Lie down first. I'll go over the procedure for you. My hands are still steady, my skills are still sharp, but these days my memory… eh, not so much."
William chuckled and obediently stretched himself across the recliner. The worn leather creaked beneath his weight. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the cold metal backrest cool the heat of his restless thoughts.
Not long after, the door opened again. V — the younger mercenary he had come to know well — entered, her steps quick and purposeful. She stifled a yawn and stretched her arms.
"Old V, if this guy doesn't pay you for the surgery, come find me," she said casually, glancing at William. "I still have work to do."
Old V inserted a cable into William's neural socket with practiced ease. "V, you really should rest," he said firmly. "The company doesn't value your life, but you need to take it seriously."
V laughed off his concern, waving as she left the shop.
William's gaze lingered on her back as the door shut. A strange heaviness sat in his chest. Strictly speaking, Old V was more family than anyone else he had in Night City. Blood relatives meant little here. Loyalty, trust, and the willingness to have your back when it counted—that was family. And Old V had always been that.
Arasaka… William clenched his jaw. They squeezed every drop of value from people like V, chewing them up until nothing was left.
"Alright, let's see here." Old V shook his head, muttering under his breath as his fingers danced over the console beside the chair. He began scanning William's vitals and pulling up prosthetic diagnostics.
"Doctor… Victor…" William hesitated. "This surgery… it won't be too expensive, will it?"
Though Old V's steady presence always inspired confidence, William couldn't help but feel the tension in his stomach when thinking about the bill. He remembered all too well that Victor, in his youth, had been a feared gangster and boxer — the kind who didn't hesitate to send death threats with a grin. That past hadn't vanished, even if today Victor was known as Night City's most righteous ripperdoc.
Victor smirked, catching his hesitation. "V knew you'd worry. She advanced ten thousand eddies for your surgery. If you've got the money, add another ten thousand after the discount. Give it to V, she'll pass it on to me."
Relief flooded William's chest. He did have enough. His eyes brightened.
"No need, Doc. I trust you. The money's already with her. You've done excellent work — please just keep doing what you do best."
Victor chuckled. Praise was nice, though he knew young mercs like William rarely had much cash to throw around. "You kids always want to chase big dreams. Flashy chrome arms, high-performance legs, car races at night, wild nights in neon clubs…" He shook his head. "But when it comes to implants, you've got to work within your limits. Push too far, and you'll end up a cyberpsycho before you realize it."
He tapped a finger against William's temple. "I install what fits you. Good gear, body-friendly, nothing that will fry your mind. I want you alive, kid. Remember that."
William nodded, though he had something else in mind. "I want you to change my appearance. A completely new look."
Victor froze, lowering his tools slightly. "Change your face? That's not a simple request. External features can be altered, sure, but it's not foolproof. High-end corp databases — especially QiluSi's systems — they'll still match you. Plastic surgery's just cosmetics. The moment you slip, your real identity will be outed."
William frowned, processing the words. He had known that even the shadiest ripperdocs could offer new faces, but they only treated the symptoms, not the cause.
"There's something I've heard of," Victor continued slowly. "In Dogtown, there's talk of a tech called a behavioral facial plate. Supposedly, it doesn't just change your appearance — it rewrites how you move, speak, even your micro-expressions. We're talking adjustable skin and muscle layers, vocal cord simulators, full-spectrum data of the target…"
Victor trailed off, giving an embarrassed smile. "Honestly, I'd love to get my hands on one, just to study it. That kind of tech would be priceless."
William's heart skipped. Behavioral facial plate… He remembered V once using that exact tech in Dogtown, transforming into Aguilar to infiltrate Hansen's ranks. Hearing Victor describe it now only reinforced how dangerous and valuable it was.
First Dogtown, then the tech. That was the path.
For now, Victor proceeded with the surgery, reconstructing William's face as best he could. The process was long, filled with humming machines, faint sparks, and Victor's muttering as he worked with surgeon's precision. When it was done, William sat up, looking into the mirror.
A stranger stared back at him.
After thanking Victor, William slipped out through Misty's back door. Misty gave him a polite nod, sensing he wasn't in the mood for conversation.
Now came the real challenge: finding a way back into Dogtown.
Even if Colonel Hansen and Mr. Hands wanted him dead, William couldn't avoid it. His performance had bought him a chance, but the rest was up to him. Asking V to send him there directly would only diminish his worth — Arasaka would sooner assign a loyal agent than trust a freelancer like him.
No, he needed to prove his own value, and that started with undermining Hands. If he could chip away at Hands's influence, piece by piece, the contracts of Dogtown would eventually fall into his lap.
But striking too fast was dangerous. Force Hands into a corner, and the man might lash out like a wounded beast. Worse, clients wouldn't trust a sudden replacement.
"Everything is difficult at the beginning…" William murmured as he sat down at a food cart along Twisting Street. "But beginnings don't scare me. It's the path after that."
The stall smelled of broth and grease. William ordered ramen, though Takemura had once scoffed and called such food "garbage." William didn't think so. Sure, the texture was odd and the hygiene questionable, but it was edible. Whether the "meat" was actual meat or high-protein bugs didn't matter. It filled the stomach.
As he slurped the noodles, his holo buzzed.
[Caller: V]
"The data's ready, Rin," her voice came through. Her efficiency was sharp as ever, befitting her promotion.
William grinned. "Okay, boss."
"You'd better get to Dogtown fast. I've got plenty for you to check, and I can't show up there myself. That place stinks of Hansen. The second he smells a corpo, he'll be on edge."
William tapped his chopsticks against the bowl, thinking. "Boss, what do you know about Hansen?"
There was a pause. Then V replied, "He's married. Wife's German. Likes to speak French. Name's Emma. They've got a daughter. Hansen hired a private security team — full-time protection, day and night."
"What's this, William? You going after someone's wife now?"
He shook his head, swallowing the last of his ramen. "No. Just wondering what she does in her free time. If she ever steps out without the guards glued to her side."
V caught on instantly. "Hmph. Targeting family to rattle him? Smart, but dangerous."
"Every Saturday," she continued reluctantly, "Emma goes to the Mewtwo Club in Westbrook. Spends the night with corpo wives and entertainment stars. Security waits outside. But listen — I don't recommend pushing too far. If Hansen or Dogtown's crews catch wind, you'll have a storm on your hands."
William stood, wiping his mouth. "Don't worry. Just a 'peaceful exchange.' I'm not touching a woman. Just want Hansen to lose some sleep."
"Suit yourself," V muttered before ending the call.
William adjusted his jacket and caught sight of his reflection in the greasy glass wall of the food stall. The new face stared back at him — sharper, bolder, almost… handsome. He smirked.
"Damn, Doc. You outdid yourself."
He turned back to the chef, a round man sweating over pots of broth. "Boss, ramen's delicious!"
The chef brightened instantly. "Arigatou gozaimasu, sir! Your approval means—"
Before he could finish, a green-haired Tiger Claw slammed his bowl on the counter.
"Shit! This tastes awful! Is this supposed to be food?" The gangster snarled, yanking the chef by the collar. "There's a cockroach in my bowl!"
The blade of a katana flashed in neon light, followed by shouts and curses.
William simply shook his head, turning away. "Typical…"
He muttered as he walked down the street, the noise fading behind him. His mind was already on Dogtown.
This was only the beginning.