Inside Viktor's basement clinic, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and antiseptic. Kael and Viktor were circling each other, the rhythmic thud-thud of boxing gloves hitting leather echoing off the concrete walls.
Even in his sixties, Viktor Vektor moved with the coiled grace of a predator. His punches still carried the freight-train momentum that had once made him a legendary heavyweight contender. The problem was his lungs; they couldn't keep up with his heart.
After a blistering exchange, Viktor threw a heavy lead hook that Kael slipped by a hair's breadth. Kael countered with a precise dig to the solar plexus. The air left Viktor's lungs in a sharp hiss, and the big man took a knee, gasping for breath.
"You alright, Old Vik?" Kael asked, reaching out to pull the doctor up.
"Still got it... cough... just need a new pair of lungs," Viktor chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow.
He looked at Kael with a mix of pride and bewilderment. Kael's learning curve wasn't a curve; it was a vertical line. In just a few days, he had absorbed decades of ring craft. But it was the kid's "ganic" body that truly baffled Vik. Kael looked lean, almost lithe, yet the kinetic energy he generated was more terrifying than a man twice his size with hydraulic Gorilla Arms.
"Have some water."
Lucy, who had been watching from a surgical stool, walked over. She handed Kael a bottle and gently wiped a streak of sweat from his temple.
Viktor watched them, a rare, warm smile creasing his weathered face. "The two of you... moving a bit fast, aren't you? It's good to see." He paused, his expression turning thoughtful. "If only Jackie had your head for footwork."
"Jackie?" Kael's pulse quickened. He knew that name. "You mean Jackie Welles?"
"That's the one. Used to run with the Valentinos, but he's a good soul. Big heart, bigger mouth. He's an Edgerunner now, trying to make it to the major leagues. I'll introduce you two sometime. I think you'd make a hell of a team."
"I'd like that," Kael said. He couldn't help but wonder: if Jackie was around, was V? And in this timeline, would he be meeting a "Vincent" or a "Valerie"?
"Anyway," Viktor said, moving toward his secure locker. "The Kiroshis you wanted arrived. It's not the top-of-the-line Mk.3, but for a custom order, the quality is impeccable."
Kiroshi Optics were the gold standard. Originally designed to protect astronauts from solar flares, they offered the best resolution and internal processing power on the market.
"Not bad, Vik. I didn't think you could source these so quickly." Kael clapped the doctor on the shoulder.
"Stop calling me 'Old Vik' then," the ripper grumbled, though he didn't pull away. "Now, listen—even with the 'friend' discount, these units are tens of thousands of Eddies. I can't run a charity here, kid."
"I've got the Eddies," Lucy interjected.
Kael looked at her. She had been hoarding credits for her "Ticket to the Moon" for years. For a Netrunner, that money was her only escape plan. To offer it up for his chrome... it was a declaration of trust that meant more to him than the hardware itself.
Viktor sighed, looking between them. "If I had a girl like that when I was young, I'd still be in the majors. You're a lucky bastard, Kael. Don't make me give you the 'no-anesthetic' treatment out of spite."
Kael laughed, but he knew the horror stories. Many rippers in the slums skipped the sedative to save costs, leaving patients to scream while their flesh was peeled back. Viktor, however, was a professional.
The surgery was a blur. Under a mild sedative, Kael felt the world fade out for what seemed like minutes. When he opened his eyes, the world was sharper, vibrant, and overlaid with a sophisticated HUD.
"Successful sync," Viktor noted, checking his monitor.
For Kael, the Kiroshi Mk.2 was a game-changer. It wasn't just about clear vision; it gave him an integrated link to his weapon's smart-link systems, a 10x optical zoom with zero pixelation, and a "Flash-Comp" that neutralized the effect of flashbangs or blinding sun.
He turned to Lucy, sending a cheeky, encoded text directly to her internal display: [Is it hot in here, or is that just your overclocking?].
Lucy's face turned bright red. She swiped the message away, glaring at him with a mix of embarrassment and affection.
"Alright, quit making eyes at each other," Viktor grumbled, cleaning his tools. "I've got a client in ten. Get out of my chair."
The next stop was a weapons shop in Japantown. In Night City, buying a gun was as easy as buying a pack of cigarettes, but finding quality was another story.
Most street-vending guns were "iron"—low-caliber junk that would bounce off a Tyger Claw's subcutaneous armor. Kael needed something that could pierce the chrome.
They entered a shop where a ceiling-mounted auto-turret tracked their every move. The clerk, a lecherous old man behind two inches of bulletproof glass, grinned at them.
"Welcome! Buying a piece for the lady? Or maybe something to keep your 'cannon' safe at night?" the clerk chuckled, his eyes lingering on Lucy.
Lucy's gaze turned icy. Kael felt the temperature drop. "Keep your mouth shut and show me the high-end stock," Kael warned. "Or I'll take my Eddies to the shop across the street."
The clerk surrendered immediately, pulling a massive, boxy shotgun from the rack. "Fine, fine. Check this out. The DB-2 Satara. It's a tech-shotgun. Uses electromagnetic rails to shred anything within ten meters. One shot will turn a Scavenger into a pile of wet laundry."
Kael picked it up. It was powerful, yes, but the recoil was legendary. "A bit loud for my tastes," he said, handing it back. "I need something surgical. Lethal, but manageable."
The clerk then brought out two pistols: a Militech Lexington and an Arasaka Kenshin.
"The Lexington is standard NUSA police issue. High rate of fire, easy to mod," the clerk explained.
Kael looked at it and shook his head. The Lexington was designed for "compliance"—meaning it often took half a mag to actually stop a chromed-up threat.
He picked up the Kenshin. This was a different beast. An Arasaka-made tech-pistol that fired tungsten-tipped rounds accelerated by a miniature rail system. It could punch through a car door and the person behind it.
"This is it," Kael said.
"Good taste. Fifty thousand Eddies," the clerk quoted.
Kael stared at him, his Kiroshis performing a quick price-check on the local dark-web markets. "Thirty thousand. And throw in that motorized hand-saw and three boxes of armor-piercing rounds."
The clerk hesitated, then saw the look in Kael's eyes—the look of a man who knew exactly what a body was worth. "Deal. You're a hard man, kid."
As they left, the clerk sent a friend request to Kael's link. Kael accepted it, then gave the shop's camera the middle finger.
"New eyes, new gun," Kael said, tucking the Kenshin into his waistband. "Now, I think it's time we find out exactly what happened to my father."