Kael sat on the NCART monorail, the flickering neon of Watson blurring past the reinforced glass. He was searching his memory, trying to align the Night City he knew from his past life with the visceral, decaying reality he was currently breathing.
Viktor Vektor should have set up shop in Kabuki by now, he thought.
Vik's clinic wasn't exactly famous, but the "Esoterica" shop on the floor above it had a certain reputation. In a city where black-market rippers patched up flesh for Eddies, people like Misty—who healed the soul with tarot, incense, and a listening ear—were far rarer.
"Found it. Misty's Esoterica," Lucy said. Her cyber-eyes stopped their rapid flickering as she locked onto the local network nodes. "There's a medical sub-level registered right beneath it."
"That's the one," Kael nodded.
"Let me see... the feedback on the local net is surprisingly high. People say the doc hasn't been in Kabuki long, but he's already a legend for quality work," Lucy noted, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
They stepped off at the station. Kabuki had once been a hub for medical corporations, but after Arasaka's aggressive expansion forced the smaller firms into bankruptcy, it had devolved into one of the city's most desperate slums. By day, it was a market for cheap Chinese knock-offs and synthetic street food. By night, it was a black market bazaar for illegal chrome and combat stimulants.
As they walked, Kael felt the weight of a dozen predatory gazes. The Scavengers here were bolder, more desperate. Kael let his jacket hang open just enough to reveal the grip of his Omaha. It was a silent warning that kept the city's rabid dogs at bay.
"This is it," Lucy said, leading him into a dark, graffiti-choked alley. A small door tucked into a basement corner hummed with a flickering "OPEN" sign.
Kael knocked. A moment later, a burly, bearded man with black-rimmed glasses pulled the door back. He looked less like a doctor and more like a bouncer.
"Who are you? If you're selling, I'm not buying. If you're looking for 'donated' parts, find another ripper," the man barked, his voice like gravel.
"Doctor Viktor? We're not here to sell junk. We have a professional proposition," Kael said calmly.
Viktor's eyes scanned them—not for their wallets, but for their chrome. He saw no jagged scavenger mods, no pain editors, no twitchy nervous systems of a "kidney harvester."
His posture relaxed slightly. "Sorry. I've had a dozen Scavs try to push 'fresh' implants on me today. My nerves are a bit frayed."
Kael and Lucy entered. While Kael took a seat, Lucy's eyes began their routine scan. She was a "Calculating Survivor" by trade; she didn't trust anyone, especially not a ripper in the heart of Kabuki. But as she cataloged the clinic, she found herself surprised. The equipment was high-grade, meticulously maintained, and sterilized to a corporate standard. And the boxing trophies... she recognized them. Viktor Vektor, the former heavy-hitter.
"So," Vik said, leaning against a surgical chair. "What's this proposition?"
Kael set the bag on the floor. It was filled with the chrome they had reclaimed from the two groups of Scavengers. "These came from two packs of predators who won't be bothering anyone anymore. I want you to tell me if they're worth recycling."
Viktor looked into the bag and then back at Kael, disbelief crossing his face. A kid and a Netrunner taking down two packs of Scavengers?
He picked up a cyber-arm, inspecting the serial numbers. "I can't take these, kid. Scavenger chrome is like a petri dish for viruses. If I install this in a client, they'll be dead or psychotic in a week. I'm a doctor, not a vulture."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. A ripper with a conscience in Night City? That was practically a myth.
"Understood," Kael said, glancing at Lucy. "Then do us a favor, Vik. Destroy them. Melt the chips and scrap the metal."
Viktor's eyes widened. "That's a few thousand Eddies you're throwing away."
"I don't make my living selling filth," Kael replied.
This earned him more than just Vik's attention; it earned his respect. "If you trust me that much, I'll take care of it. No charge for the disposal."
"Thanks, Vik." Kael paused. "I also heard you've been having some trouble with the local Scavenger cell. Harassment, threats?"
Viktor sighed. "The usual Kabuki tax. They want me to be their private chop-shop. I've been holding them off, but they're getting aggressive."
"Consider it a friendship-building exercise," Kael said, his tone shifting into something colder, more clinical. "We'll solve your Scavenger problem. All I ask is a twenty-percent discount for me and my partner when we need work done."
"Kid, you're talking about thirty-something psychos. You're young, don't throw your life away," Vik warned.
"Old Vik," Kael smirked, using the nickname that felt so natural. "We aren't amateurs. We're Edgerunners."
"Daytime?" Viktor asked, following them toward a nearby basement stronghold. "Aren't you supposed to strike under the cover of darkness?"
"Cockroaches hide at night, Vik," Kael said. "In the morning, they're all in one place, sleeping off their latest high."
Lucy stopped at a terminal outside the entrance. "Surveillance is synced to your Kiroshis, Kael. Bypassing the security sub-routines now."
"Stay here, Vik," Kael said, checking his magazine. "I'll be right back."
The iron door slid open. Kael vanished into the darkness. Viktor tried to follow, but the door slammed shut and locked. "Hey! Kid!"
Inside the basement, the air was thick with the stench of decay. The Scavengers were equipped with night vision, but they weren't prepared for Kael. With Lucy's pings highlighting their thermal signatures through the walls, Kael moved like a ghost.
The "Power of Three" was in full effect. His reaction time was a multiplier beyond anything the Scavengers could fathom.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Each shot was a masterpiece of economy. Kael didn't spray; he placed. One bullet for the throat, one for the unarmored eye, one for the temple. When a heavy-set boss with subcutaneous armor lunged at him, Kael didn't even use the gun. He stepped inside the man's guard and delivered a strike to the solar plexus that shattered the man's internal stabilizers, then finished him with a point-blank round to the chin.
In less than a minute, the wails and gunshots ceased.
The door opened. Kael walked out, adjusting his hoodie. Not a drop of blood had touched his clothes.
"Thirty-two targets neutralized," Kael said to a stunned Viktor. "Kabuki is a little cleaner today."
Viktor looked at the kid—really looked at him. He saw the "Calculating Survivor" and the "Technical Genius," but he also saw something he hadn't seen in years: raw, unaugmented talent that rivaled the best corporate assassins.
"I... I don't have the Eddies to pay for a hit of that scale," Vik admitted.
"I told you, it's a friendship-building exercise. Just remember the discount."
Later, back at the clinic, Vik ran a diagnostic on Kael. He stared at the tablet, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. "Ninety-eight percent 'ganic? Your reaction nerves, your muscle density... Kael, are you a Biotech experimental escaped from a lab?"
"Just lucky genes, Vik," Kael lied smoothly.
Viktor didn't push. He knew better. He looked at Kael's boxing stance and offered a genuine smile. "You've got the build for a heavy-hitter. You want to learn how to really throw a punch? I'll teach you for free. No tuition for a friend."
"Free? Now that's a deal even I can't refuse."