"Call it what you want, in the end it's still a gamble with your life.
But truth is, Night City's shadows hide too much filth. Around here, life isn't worth much."
Vik's gaze drifted toward the woman Arthur had brought back—
Just an ordinary person, maybe with a small home somewhere, yet she'd almost been swallowed whole by this city, leaving nothing behind.
"Don't worry, Vik. At least… let me pay off my debt first."
Arthur's gravelly voice carried resolve, even a hint of confidence.
Two centuries might have passed, but people were still using guns. As long as it was a gun, Arthur had no reason to fear.
Vik shook his head with a bitter smile, frowning at Arthur.
Clearly, there was something Arthur didn't understand.
"Honestly, you're underestimating the danger.
Look at yourself—you barely have any combat-grade cyberware. Half the firearms out there, you can't even use.
Worst of all, the neural link in your head is ancient, worse than basic civilian models.
Forget hackers—hell, I wouldn't be surprised if sunlight alone fried the thing."
Instinctively, Arthur touched the metal port at the back of his neck. A thumb-sized recessed slot was deeply embedded in his skin.
It was the only piece of cyberware in his entire body.
Even if you had no money, newborns were still implanted with a government-issued neural link for free—mandatory, in fact. Besides basic functions, it served as proof of citizenship.
But its role seemed to go far beyond that.
"Your interface has no concealment, no encryption, not even a firewall. It's basically a glowing target."
Seeing Arthur's puzzled look, Vik explained.
"So I'll need to swap out your prefrontal implant and operating system, otherwise you'll end up dead without even knowing what hit you.
And that unknown drug running through you? Could be some megacorp's secret experiment. I think a new identity would serve you well."
"Sounds like… I owe you a hell of a lot more than I thought."
Arthur sighed. Meeting Vik had been a stroke of luck—without him, survival would've been near impossible.
"So you'll have to wait a few days. I'll track down some serious hardware for you. In the meantime, stay here and get a feel for how Edgerunners live."
Patting Arthur on the shoulder, Vik sat back down at the desk where he usually watched boxing matches and started working.
...
Over the next few days, Vik worked tirelessly, pulling strings in the black market to secure cyberware for Arthur.
Meanwhile, Arthur studied the world of Edgerunners in depth—knowledge far beyond the reach of his body's original owner, an autistic, socially withdrawn student.
Like the Scav he had shot down—the guy was probably running armored subdermal armor. Even a heavy-caliber kinetic revolver hadn't been enough to kill him outright.
And then there were the netrunners in the shadows, frying people's brains without leaving a trace.
Four days later, the first cyberware Vik secured for Arthur arrived.
A square, silver-white metal case. Black lines crisscrossed its surface, giving it a heavy, high-tech presence.
At its center, a bold block-letter logo read: "KIROSHI."
The "O" was stylized as an eyeball.
"Kiroshi Optics…"
Arthur murmured the name without thinking.
"You're in luck. Their stuff's solid, and this model's classified internal tech. Without connections, you'd never get one."
Vik lifted the case and walked into the clinic.
"An implant eye? I'd rather not mess with my vision."
Arthur followed, not out of distaste for modern tech, but because he trusted his eyes completely.
In the Wild West, his eyes had kept him alive—sharp enough to spell death.
"This isn't a replacement eye. It's a corneal scanner—no surgery on the eyeball itself."
Vik's voice echoed from ahead.
Arthur's upgrades had been carefully discussed between the two, ensuring none of his natural talents were compromised.
"The scanner links to your neural link, helps gather battlefield intel, monitors your vitals in real time. Absolutely essential."
As he spoke, Vik opened the case. White mist spilled out, carrying a chill.
"Lie down," he said, pointing to the operating table.
"I'll get it installed."
...
Over the next few days, more of Arthur's cyberware arrived.
A peripheral disk neural link from Tsunami Electronics.
A ballistic coordination processor implanted in his palm.
"I didn't prepare combat-focused cyberware for you. If you want it, you'll have to choose yourself.
But listen—any cyberware that massively rewires your circulatory or nervous system puts enormous strain on the mind.
In the end, it leads to one incurable condition: Cyberpsychosis."
In Night City's entertainment-addicted culture, local TV ran a morning show called "Body Lotto").
It turned unexpected deaths into cheap laughs.
Gang wars, terrorist attacks, robberies, crime—Night City never slept.
Cyberpsychosis incidents were common. Arthur only knew it as a deadly condition, its outbreaks often leaving heavy casualties in their wake.
"Maybe you should explain. Sounds pretty damn dangerous."
Arthur rubbed his palm. Though the ballistic processor fit seamlessly under his skin, he could still feel its difference.
"Too much chrome overloads the nervous system. Push it too far, and your sanity cracks. You lose control—become violent, rabid.
It's like rabies, straight to the nerves."
Sliding off the assistive brace from Arthur's arm, Vik explained as Arthur opened his palm.
Black metallic patterns gleamed, extending into sensors along his fingers.
The ballistic processor—freshly installed, designed to help track weapon systems.
"My guess is this little piece won't mess me up too much."
Arthur's tone was half-question.
"Of course not. I'm talking about the cyberware that outright replaces your original nerves. That's what pushes people over the edge."
Vik picked up a pistol from the nearby table—a cheap, mass-market Budget Arms.
Data immediately flashed across the edge of Arthur's vision, displayed through the Kiroshi Scanner.
"Not bad," Arthur muttered, spinning the gun, then tilting his head. It felt completely natural.
"My work won't hold you back.
And this setup's security is solid. Unless you cross paths with a top-tier netrunner, you'll be fine."
Vik smiled, detaching his own cyberware arm. He knew Arthur knew nothing about hacking, so he'd picked a safe option for him.
The Tsunami Electronics model might lack expansion slots, but its firewall and stealth were top-grade. It could even force-shutdown without knocking the user unconscious—perfect for someone clueless about the Net.
"Also… Arthur."
Three contact IDs appeared in Arthur's vision:
Padre. Wakako Okada. Regina Jones.
"I don't have many Fixers I'm tight with. These three? I can talk to them.
You don't need to reach out—they'll come to you if there's work. I've put in a word."
Seeing Vik's furrowed brow, Arthur knew his friend was worried. He grinned.
"Doesn't sound like someone who's just 'acquainted.' Looks like you've been keeping secrets, Vik—making connections with the big players."
"I saved people under their protection. They only recognize my skill, nothing more."
Vik's expression darkened, his voice heavy.
"Arthur… some Edgerunners blindly trust their Fixers, because those Fixers provide intel—even protection.
But you need to understand: whether it's you or their so-called credibility, it's all just profit.
If the value you carry outweighs their reputation… no one knows when they'll turn on you."
Arthur nodded solemnly and patted Vik's shoulder.
"Relax. I've always relied on myself."