The House of the Reaper welcomes Operatives Adler Torres and Ceagle. We also welcome the following Novices to our ranks: Aesthetics, Blank, Flannery, Nick, and Firefly4545. Their contributions and dedication to our cause will be honored through the Net and through the Stars.
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"The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves."
- Niccolò Machiavelli
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The 3D holographic rendering of Santi's brain hung suspended in the sterile air of the clinic, rotating slowly above the medical console. It glowed in a vibrant, ethereal cascade of neon green and cool blue light, casting shifting shadows across the organized surgical trays and tiled floor.
The intricate, almost alien-like network of pulsing silver lines woven throughout the organic tissue held Vik in a state of paralyzed shock. Meanwhile, Santi sat perfectly still on the rolling medical stool, his face indifferent, though his heart hammered against his ribs. He watched as Vik took off his glasses, scrubbed a hand across his weathered face, and put the glasses back on, as if hoping the optical reset would change the data scrolling across the secondary monitors.
Obviously, it didn't.
Vik exhaled a breath that sounded more like a weary deflation and leaned his hands on the edge of the console, his broad shoulders slumping under the weight of what he was seeing.
"I've been a ripperdoc in this city for a long, long time, kid," Vik said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that barely pierced the ambient hum of the clinic's life-support machinery. "I've seen custom jobs that would make a trauma team weep. I've patched up solos wired with experimental wetware, and I've dug gray-market junk out of desperate gangoons that looked like they were soldered together with a blowtorch. But this..."
Vik gestured vaguely toward the hologram, shaking his head. "I don't even think this is something remotely possible just by the simple installation of a Neural Link. Your brain... it's like it's completely evolved."
Santi frowned, his guard instantly rising. "Evolved how?"
Vik sighed, turning away from the monitor and pulling his stool closer to Santi. He sat resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes carrying a heavy exhaustion.
"Look, kid. Six years ago, before your father brought you to me, he had sent me a specialized set of schematics," Vik explained, his tone slow. "He gave me the carbon-nanotube mesh and the integration protocols for your Neural Link, which makes yours unique since the standard is to use copper-wire threading. From what I remember, it was designed to merge natively with your astrocyte cells, but I told him he was crazy. I mean, the integration alone would have likely caused severe neurological degradation. But Alejandro... he had data to bakc up his claims. Along with the schematics, he also sent me the redacted files from a corporate R&D division that held the preliminary results of a test subject who was just a young girl."
Santi's posture stiffened at the mention of his father and the mysterious corporate files. "A test subject?"
"Yeah," Vik nodded grimly. "They had attempted a similar, early-stage implementation on her. However, I never got the full details, and Alejandro kept the corporate secrets locked down tight. But based on what he showed me, and based on what I am looking at right now inside your skull... I can make a pretty guess of what happened."
Vik paused, looking back up at the glowing hologram. "Listen, kid, your brain didn't just accept the hardware, it damn nearly embraced it. The carbon mesh has stimulated the creation of thousands of new, entirely synthetic neural pathways. Your neuroplasticity is way off the fucking charts. Shit, I mean, your brain is actively rewiring itself to process data streams at speeds that shouldn't be biologically possible for a human being."
"Damn... That's preem. What about the girl?" Santi pressed, curiosity masking the sudden chill running down his spine.
"Well, like I said, if I had to take a guess?" Vik met Santi's eyes. "She most likely flatlined herself. The files indicated she was slightly younger than you were when she underwent the experiment, and, as you can imagine, a brain that young, exposed to that level of invasive tech... it can only do so much before it snaps. The psychological strain alone would trigger severe cyberpsychosis or a complete localized aneurysm. And, if she didn't die on the table..."
Vik stopped for a second, his voice darkening as they carried the undeniable truth of corporations. "Then the corpos flatlined her themselves. Because, according to what these scans revealed, Santi, and considering how much physical and mental growing you still have left to do while showing no signs of any mental degradation... you are going to become someone they cannot control."
A heavy silence descended upon the clinic, broken only by the steady beeping of the unconscious Valentino's heart monitor. Santi processed Vik's words, his mind rapidly running the variables and assessing the threat level of his own existence. He looked at the holographic rendering of his brain, tracing the pulsing silver lines of the carbon mesh.
Slowly, a cocky smile tugged at the corner of Santi's mouth.
"Uncontrollable," he repeated, the word tasting like a NiCola on his tongue. "I like the sound of that."
However, Vik didn't smile back, his expression remaining grim as a deep furrow appeared between his brows. He leaned forward, his body casting a shadow over the teenager.
"You ought to be careful, kid," Vik warned, his voice dropping to a deadly serious whisper. "You think being uncontrollable is a badge of honor in this city? But you don't seem to understand how much of a death sentence that is. Entities like Militech, Biotechnica, and NetWatch rely on predictability. They operate on control, and the moment they realize there is an asset on the board that they cannot buy, leash, or predict... they won't try to hire you. They will paint a massive, glowing target on your back and send hit squads to wipe you off the map. The less control a corp has over a person, the more likely it is that they will kill them."
Santi's smile quickly faded, and the arrogant thrill of his unique biology was smothered by the brutal reality of his situation. He remembered the words his mother told him. How MIlitech had executed his father for doing things without their permission. He remembered how she told him that the corporate world was a merciless place. His mind replayed the events he had first seen as a child when he had been exposed to teh Net. How people in Laguna Bend were forced out of their homes, and some were beaten simply because a corporation had the bright idea of making a dam.
Vik was right. If someone didn't have power, then they would get crushed by someone who did. And because there is always a bigger fish, then that someone would get crushed by another, continuing a cycle that eventually led to owning you. And if they couldn't own him, they would zero him.
He thought about it for a long moment, his eyes hardening the longer he thought. "Then I just have to make sure I'm untouchable before they ever figure out how uncontrollable I really am," Santi finally said, his voice devoid of any childish naivety. He then looked Vik dead in the eye. "So, let's talk about the Chrome."
Vik stared at the boy, realizing in that exact moment that there was no talking him down. The fire in Alejandro's son was already burning too hot to extinguish, and he could only let out a resigned sigh, running a hand over his hair, and turn back to his terminal.
"Alright," Vik conceded, tapping a few keys to bring up his current inventory ledger. "Based on these scans, your frontal cortex and operating system can handle a massive upgrade without risking rejection. I currently have a Militech Paraline Mk.1 cyberdeck in the vault. I also have a Fixer-grade Agent that I can splice directly into your Neural Link, and the localized Self-ICE daemon you asked for."
"What about the rest?" Santi asked, leaning forward, his mind calculating the operational benefits of the hardware.
"Well, for those I'd need to put in orders," Vik replied, scanning the supply chain networks on his monitor. "I should be able to procure the RAM upgrade within a week. My suppliers are usually reliable with that kind of baseline memory enhancement. But the Ex-Disk and the Kerenzikov with its Boost System... those are going to take a while. The Ex-Disk is high-end corporate tech, not something I usually keep lying around, and the Kerenzikov with a Boost System requires specific spinal fluid integration protocols. And with tensions rising between the independent states and the NUSA government, it's getting harder to come by military-grade reflex tuners on the gray market right now."
Santi nodded slowly, processing the timeline. "That's fine. I can wait for the heavy lifting. What about my legs? My arms? I'll be needing to hit harder and move faster if I'm planning on getting into heavier physical gigs."
Vik stopped typing and froze for a second before turning his stool around, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression shifting from an accommodating ripperdoc to an immovable brick wall.
"Absolutely fucking not," Vik stated, his tone leaving no space for argument. "I told you before, and I'll tell you again. You might be standing at six feet tall, Santi, but you are still only fourteen years old. Your musculature hasn't finished growing yet, and your skeletal density hasn't plateaued. I am not willing to touch your bones, your muscles, or your nervous system, aside from the Kerenzikov, which primarily interfaces with your already-adapted spinal column."
"But Vik, I need-" Santi tried to protest.
"No," Vik interrupted. "I won't do it. If I start replacing your natural limbs or reinforcing your skeleton with titanium plating now, your organic body will continue to grow around the fixed dimensions of the cyberware, which will cause severe skeletal warping, chronic pain, and massive biological rejection. The only reason I am even agreeing to touch your brain is because your scans show your neuroplasticity is uniquely evolved to handle the additions. But the rest of your body? The meat? That stays natural until you're at least eighteen. I am not changing my stance on it, so that is the end of that."
Santi glared at Vik for a long moment, testing the boundary, but he recognized that Vik was putting his foot down and that this was a line the man would not cross, not even for Alejandro's son.
"Fine," Santi relented, letting out a sharp exhale. He leaned back on his stool. "Just the brain and the reflex tuner. Then let's get down to brass tacks. How much is all of this going to cost me?"
Santi already knew the street value of the hardware he was requesting. He had spent hours scouring the encrypted runner boards, cross-referencing prices from Pacifica to Watson. The Paraline Mk.1, the Ex-Disk, the RAM upgrade, the Kerenzikov, the Kerenzikov Boost System, the Fixer-grade Agent, and the surgical fees... it would easily run him upwards of 100,000 eddies. A small fortune he didn't quite have, but could get.
Vik looked at the fourteen-year-old boy, seeing the guarded, independent street-runner he had been forced to become, and thought about the guilt that had kept him awake at night for the past six years. He thought about Julia, pumping toxic fuel and working a register just to keep her son fed.
"Nothing," Vik said softly, his voice thick with emotion.
Santi blinked, momentarily derailed. "What?"
"It's on the house," Vik clarified, waving a hand. "After the last time I saw Alejandro... the way we left things... I owe him. I owe your family. You're doing all of this, taking these insane risks, to help your mother live a better life, and I respect that. I respect the hell out of it. So the chrome, the surgery, the procurement... it's free. It's the absolute least I can do to help you out."
Santi's jaw tightened. The offer was a lifeline that would save him months of grinding through dangerous gigs. But the street had ingrained a brutal, uncompromising philosophy into his core: nothing in Night City was ever truly free. Favors were a currency, and debt was a chain around your neck.
"No," Santi said, his voice flat and unyielding. "I don't do handouts, Vik. And I don't like owing anything to anyone. I pay my own way."
Vik sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "Kid, don't be stupid. This is top-tier hardware. You're looking at a hundred grand, easy. Just take the win."
"I said no," Santi insisted, his eyes flashing with a stubborn, fierce pride. "I'm paying for the chrome."
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Preem stones, choom. Pass me some 3>?
The infamous P@treon exists for those of you who want to read ahead.
patreon .com/Crimson_Reapr (Don't be a gonk, remove the space)
They get around 3 long-form weekly chapters (4.5-6k words each).