The first job came sooner than Matthew expected.
It started like any other day at Viktor's clinic. The low hum of machinery filled the air, accompanied by the faint hiss of pneumatics and the metallic tang of sterilizer fluid. Matthew was elbow-deep in the guts of a damaged cyberlimb, his hands moving with practiced precision as he replaced a faulty actuator.
The door swung open with a loud creak, and Matthew glanced up to see a man stumble in. He was bleeding from a deep gash in his side, his left arm hanging limp and sparking where a jagged piece of cyberware had been torn loose.
"Vik!" the man gasped, his voice strained. "Need need a patch-up."
Viktor was already moving, grabbing gloves and supplies from a nearby shelf. "Sit your ass down before you bleed out on my floor," he growled, motioning to the cot.
The man collapsed onto the cot, groaning as Viktor began assessing the damage. "What the hell happened to you, Carlos?"
"Scavs," the man spat, wincing as Viktor applied pressure to the wound. "Bastards jumped me out by the docks. Took my shipment. Left me for dead."
Matthew's jaw tightened at the mention of Scavs. He'd heard the stories cyberpsychos in all but name, preying on the weak and harvesting their bodies for parts. The thought made his stomach turn.
"Shipment of what?" Viktor asked, his tone casual but sharp.
Carlos hesitated, his eyes darting to Matthew. "Does it matter?"
"It does if I'm the one patching you up," Viktor said, his voice hard. "I don't work blind, Carlos. You know that."
"Cyberware," Carlos admitted, his voice low. "High-grade stuff. Black market."
Viktor sighed, shaking his head. "You mercs never learn."
Matthew stayed quiet, watching as Viktor worked. It wasn't the first time they'd had someone like Carlos in the clinic—a merc who'd bitten off more than they could chew. But something about this felt different.
As Viktor stitched up the wound, Carlos turned to Matthew, his expression wary. "You the new kid?"
Matthew nodded.
Carlos grunted, wincing as Viktor tightened the sutures. "You ever done merc work before?"
Matthew hesitated, unsure how to answer. "No," he said finally.
Carlos smirked. "Figures. You've got that fresh look like you haven't seen how nasty this city can get."
Matthew bristled at the comment but said nothing.
"You want to survive in Night City?" Carlos continued. "You need to get your hands dirty. That means taking risks. Doing jobs no one else wants to touch."
Viktor shot Carlos a warning glance. "Don't go filling the kid's head with your bullshit."
But Matthew wasn't listening. His mind was racing, the words striking a chord.
He couldn't stay in the clinic forever. If he was going to build something of his own—something better he needed money, connections, and a reputation.
And this might be his chance.
(Lalalalala ignore this line i was being stupid)
Later that night, after Viktor had finished with Carlos and sent him on his way, Matthew found himself pacing the clinic. The words kept echoing in his head: *You need to get your hands dirty.*
He hated the thought of working with mercs, but he couldn't deny the truth behind it. If he wanted to make it in Night City, he needed to prove himself.
The pull returned, faint but insistent. New options presented themselves, unfolding in his mind like a blueprint:
1. Field Mechanic – Repair and upgrade cyberware on the go, even in high-stress situations.
2. Combat Tinkerer – Create and deploy improvised weapons and gadgets during combat.
3. Recon Specialist – Enhanced perception and analytical skills to assess threats and environments.
Matthew closed his eyes, focusing on the first option.
Field Mechanic.
The knowledge came instantly, filling his mind with techniques and strategies for repairing cyberware under pressure. He could see how to stabilize faulty systems, optimize performance, and even jury-rig upgrades in the middle of a firefight.
It wasn't just about survival it was about adaptation.
The next morning, Matthew made his decision.
"I want to take on some jobs," he said, standing in front of Viktor's workbench.
Viktor looked up from his tools, raising an eyebrow. "Jobs?"
"Merc work," Matthew clarified. "I need to start building a reputation. And I need the money."
Viktor frowned, setting down a wrench. "You sure about this, kid? You've seen the kind of people who come through here. Merc work isn't just dangerous it's messy."
Matthew nodded, his expression resolute. "I know. But I can't stay here forever. I need to start building something of my own."
Viktor studied him for a long moment before sighing. "Alright. But if you're gonna do this, you're gonna do it right."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a battered holopad, tossing it to Matthew. "There's a fixer named Regina Jones. She handles gigs for new mercs stuff low on the radar. Tell her I sent you."
Matthew caught the holopad, his chest tightening with a mix of excitement and fear.
"Thanks, Vik," he said quietly.
"Don't thank me yet," Viktor replied. "Just don't get yourself killed."
Matthew stared at the holopad, his mind racing. This was the first step.
The clinic was still a long-term goal a dream he wasn't ready to give up. But if he was going to make it a reality, he needed to survive in Night City first.
And in this city, survival meant getting your hands dirty.