[Call connected: Viktor Vektor]
"V? What's the occasion—finally remembered this old bastard?"
V lets out a soft laugh. "You're not old, Vik. Saw you the other day watching fight replays, talking about stepping back in the ring to teach the kids a lesson."
"Let's skip the flattery. Is this business again?"
His voice, as always, steady. Grounding.
"Yeah." V glances at the passenger seat. The man's arm is still bleeding heavily. She already pumped him full of coagulants and hit him with a can of Black Lace, but it's not doing enough.
"I've got someone… tied to a job. Arm's severed. Massive blood loss. Back's torn up."
She pulled a personal link cable from her wrist, steering with one hand while plugging the other end into Liam's neural socket.
"I'm uploading his vitals now. They're red-lining. I'm about thirty minutes out. Can you clear a table? I know it's late, but I owe you one."
She streams the data to Viktor. She's not sure the guy will last that long.
"Is he Trauma Team?" Viktor asked, his tone cautious. V worked for the Megacorps, and that usually meant dealing with high-priority clients whose Platinum coverage had hit a snag.
V was blunt. "Guy's a total zero. No way he's got a subscription."
Viktor let out a resigned chuckle. "Bring him in then. And keep those coagulants coming if you want him to have enough blood left to pay the bill."
"Don't worry, Vik. I've been paying attention. I've picked up a few of your tricks."
The line cut. V's Hera EC-D I360 roared, tearing through the Pacifica interchanges at 150 kilometers per hour. The NCPD scanners were lighting up with reports of a high-speed corporate vehicle, but V didn't tap the brakes.
The car lanced through the neon canyons of the city, the "Tenka Musu" billboards blurring into a streak of white light across the hood. She drove like she was trying to outrun the Reaper himself.
...
[Watson District]
[Little China]
Watson had seen better days. Once the beating heart of the city's industry, it was now a sprawling graveyard of poverty. The landscape was a jagged mix of Eastern aesthetics—weathered kanji neon, fast-food stalls selling synthetic ramen, and the smell of cheap ozone.
The urban design was a study in contradiction. Illegal gambling dens sat in the shadows of corporate spires. Salarymen who couldn't afford a coffin-apartment in the City Center breathed the same smog as the scavengers here.
The entertainment was cheap: card tables and strip clubs. Aside from the occasional Tyger Claw patrol, no major faction bothered to claim this concrete maze.
Viktor's clinic was tucked away behind a row of interlocking storefronts, hidden in a basement alley.
V slammed the car into park. Misty was already there, waiting by the entrance. Between her heavy eyeliner and her perpetual daze, she looked more exhausted than usual.
"Viktor sent me to help, V."
"I've got it—… yeah. Thanks."
It's past midnight. A couple of homeless onlookers flinch as the two women haul the bleeding man inside. Blood drips all the way down, soaking into Misty's sweater.
felt a twinge of guilt. "Sorry."
"Put him here," Viktor says, chrome hands sterilized and ready. "We deal with the arm first."
He eyes the patient. "What is he to you? Decides whether I use the good stuff."
"Use whatever it takes, Vik. If he lives, I'll make sure he pays you back. If he doesn't, put it on my tab."
Viktor shakes his head. "You're the only one I let slide on the bill, V."
He went to work, plugging the bleeders and using tweezers to pluck shrapnel from Liam's back. Misty moved through the cabinets, pulling out high-grade components. The surgery began.
—
Liam dreamed.
In the dream, Corpo Plaza is spotless. He stands beneath towering megabuildings that pin the masses to the bottom rung of existence.
What am I?
Why am I still alive?
No one answered.
"Hey! Spacing out again?"
Maine's hand lands on his shoulder.
Rebecca stands nearby, hands in her pockets. The look on her face isn't the carefree grin he remembers.
The rest of the crew stands behind her—Dorio. Kiwi. Lucy. David Martinez.
"Yo! Amigo! You look like you've finally got some fire in your eyes today!"
Liam turns his head. "Jackie...?"
A massive man with a topknot and a leather jacket stood there, arms crossed. Beside him stood a woman... wait, was that the cyber-babe from the hills?
Then the mirror shattered.
The figures on the floor were broken, pieces of chrome and meat that could never be put back together.
Only the woman remains upright—wounded all over, kneeling on one knee, staring up at Arasaka Tower like she wants to burn it down.
Behind her stands a silver-haired man in a ballistic vest, one chrome hand resting near her shoulder.
"This rotten world? Wouldn't be a loss if it burned to ash."
[System Rebooting...]
[Data Retrieval... // ...]
The darkness in Liam's mind began to bleed into light. Red biometric data flickered across his vision, a persistent reminder that he had crossed back over the line.
Did I call the Ripper?
All that mattered was the pulse in his neck.
He opens his eyes.
He's strapped into a surgical chair. The corpo woman is slumped nearby, asleep.
He moves his neck carefully, scanning the room.
The room was cramped, dominated by the blue glow of computer monitors and a shelf of old boxing trophies. Junk was piled in the corners. Yet, there was an inexplicable sense of familiarity about the place.
My hand!
He jerks them up.
Liam lifted his arms. Both were there. New. Pristine. He flexed his fingers—they felt faster, more responsive than his original flesh.
The palms were covered in a realistic synthetic skin, but beneath the surface lay the tell-tale black sheen of high-end cybernetics. He noticed a silver modular plate on the wrist; his grip strength felt tripled.
"Subdermal Armor. Ballistic Coprocessor."
The voice made Liam jump. The Corporate woman was awake. Her eyes were sharp and weary, carrying a natural authority as she stared him down.
"Where am I?"
"Night City. Watson District," she replied, crossing her legs. "Now, as thanks for saving your life, you can pay the bill to Dr. Viktor Vektor of Little China."
"And as for my payment... you're going to tell me exactly why the Barghest are executing their own people over a stolen shipment."
Viktor? This is Vik's clinic?!
Liam swallowed hard. If this was Vik's place, then the woman in front of him...
[Target Identified: Valerie (V)]
[Affiliation: Arasaka - Night City]
[Affinity: 0]
[Development Value: ???]
[Milestone Reward: Character Encounter. System overhauled. Cybernetic upgrades initialized: [Ballistic Coprocessor - Rare], [Subdermal Armor - Rare], [Titanium Bones - Rare]. Intelligence +3. Eddies...]
"Don't get clever," V says coldly. "I can flatline your brain and boot you back up again. Now talk. Dogtown. What happened."
"And don't make me get creative with the interrogation."
A Corporate Netrunner. V. The pressure rolling off her was suffocating. Liam's body felt stiff, his new joints locked in place.
He didn't know how much to reveal. Militech, Arasaka, the trap... it was a tangled web of corporate spite.
But he couldn't just spill his guts. Not again.
"I need to know what this is about before I say anything."
He's been burned too many times. Even if it's V, he won't just dump his guts.
V's expression shifted, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
Liam blurts out fast, "Look, I saw things. Heavy things. But I need to know what the 'official' story is so I know what you're looking for. I swear—you tell me what the Corps are saying, and I'll tell you what actually happened on the ground."
V pulled a folding knife from her belt, flipping it open and closed with a hypnotic, rhythmic snick.
Liam wasn't sure if that counted as a threat, but in this city, it usually did.