Vik stared at him for a moment, recognizing the immovable stubbornness. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Fine. If you absolutely insist on paying me, then I absolutely insist on giving you a discount. We call it a 'friends and family' rate. Fifty thousand eddies for the whole package. That should be more than enough to cover my overhead, and you get to keep your pride intact."
Santi narrowed his eyes, doing the mental arithmetic. He knew for a fact that procuring the raw materials and the corporate-grade cyberware alone, without any markup, would cost Vik around 54,000 eddies.
"Seventy thousand," Santi countered, refusing to let the man take a financial loss on his behalf.
Vik raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused. "I think you're haggling in the wrong direction, kid."
"I know what the parts cost on the gray market, Vik," Santi replied evenly. "I'm not letting you go into the red for me. Seventy thousand. That should cover the parts, the risk, and your time."
Vik let out a long, conceding sigh, raising his hands in surrender.
"Alright. Seventy thousand it is. You're as stubborn as your old man, I'll give you that." Vik leaned forward, a skeptical look crossing his face. "But let me ask you the real question... do you actually have that kind of scratch?"
Santi offered a rare, shy smile, the hardened exterior of 'Ghost' slipping for a fraction of a second to reveal the fourteen-year-old boy underneath.
"Can I pay in installments?" he asked. "I've got forty thousand eddies loaded on encrypted cred-chips that I can pay you right now. As soon as possible."
Vik let out a booming laugh that echoed pleasantly around the sterile clinic. "Installments. Sure, kid. I'll only charge you for the chrome I'm putting in you today. The Paraline cyberdeck, the Fixer-grade Agent, and the Self-ICE. Let's call it twenty-five thousand eddies for today's session. You can hold onto the rest until the Kerenzikov with its boost system and the Ex-Disk arrive."
"Deal," Santi nodded, visibly relieved to have the business concluded.
With the professional negotiations settled, the atmosphere in the clinic softened. Vik leaned back in his chair, adjusting his glasses, looking at Santi not as a client, but as the boy he had met years ago.
"So, aside from the high-stakes corporate espionage," Vik started, his tone shifting to a casual, conversational warmth, "what else is going on in your life, Santi? You got any friends out there in Rancho? You got a girlfriend?"
Santi tilted his head, genuinely confused by the antiquated terminology. "You talking about an input?"
Vik let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. He muttered something under his breath about 'kids these days' and the degradation of the English language. "Yes, Santi. An 'input'. Or anything resembling a normal social life."
"No input for me at the moment," Santi replied, shaking his head. "Don't really have the time or the energy for it."
Vik acted dramatically shocked, placing a hand over his heart. "How tragic. You're a good-looking kid, Santi. You've got those striking eyes, the white hair. You should be getting out more, going to parties, finding someone to spend time with."
"I'll have time for all that later," Santi said, his tone growing firm. "Once things get much better for me. Once my mom is completely safe."
"Aye, that's a fair choice," Vik acknowledged, nodding respectfully. "A heavy burden for a kid, but a fair choice nonetheless. But what about friends? You can't navigate this city completely alone, especially being a runner. You need a crew, people who will have your back."
Santi let out a long exhale. He looked down at his calloused hands, the phantom weight of a cheap plastic urn resting in his palms.
"My only friend just skipped town for Atlanta a few months back," Santi said, his voice dropping into a hollow, emotionless void. He didn't look up at Vik. "My other friend blew his brains out with a cheap pistol just a month before that."
Santi paused, letting the silence in the room stretch out with a feeling of suffocation. He slowly turned his head, his eyes drifting across the clinic to land on the surgical chair. He stared at the unconscious, muscled Hispanic man, his gaze locking onto the bloody crown of roses and the stylized 'V' tattooed into the man's flesh.
"And my other friend," Santi continued, his voice trembling slightly with a tightly leashed, dangerous anger. "He was killed. Gunned down in the Glen by some 'Tinos."
Vik's expression fell, the jovial warmth instantly vanishing from his face. He looked from Santi to the unconscious Valentino on the table, realizing the tension he had inadvertently brought into his clinic.
"Jesus, kid," Vik whispered, genuine sorrow lacing his words. "I... I am so sorry to hear that. I didn't know."
Vik then gestured weakly toward the man on the chair. "Listen, that boy lying there right now... his name is Jackie. He's just a twenty-year-old gonk. He runs with the 'Tinos, does some low-level enforcement and collection shit for them, but he's got a pure heart. He isn't the kind of guy who guns down kids in the street."
Santi scoffed, bitterness dripping from it that showed he held zero forgiveness. He didn't take his eyes off the gang tattoos. "Tell that to Leo's parents, Vik. Tell them about the 'pure hearts' of the Valentinos after they lost both of their children to them."
The air in the clinic grew thick, and the weight of Night City's endless cycle of violence pressed down on them both. Vik rubbed the back of his neck, realizing that no amount of smooth talking was going to bridge the gap of a blood feud.
"Look," Vik said gently, standing up from his stool. "I need to prep for your surgery, but I've got to finish taking care of my customer first. He came in pretty banged up from a gig gone wrong, looking to get a set of Gorilla Arms installed. It's an invasive procedure, and I need a sterile, quiet environment. Do you mind waiting outside for a bit? I'll come get you when I'm ready."
Santi slowly tore his gaze away from the unconscious ganger and looked at Vik, his jaw tight as he offered a stiff nod. "Sure, Vik. I can wait."
Santi stood up and grabbed his sling bag before making his way out of the clinic without looking back. He ascended the concrete stairs, stepping out into the cold, damp air of the enclosed back alley behind the Chakra Harmony esoterica shop.
The rain had settled into a drizzle, while the neon signs of Kabuki flickered in the distance, casting long, distorted shadows across the wet pavement. Santi found a dry spot beneath a rusted fire escape awning, pulled his knees up to his chest, and sat down on the cold concrete.
He waited, listening to the ambient noise of the city hum around him, the distant wail of NCPD sirens, the roar of aerodyne engines overhead, and the muffled thumping bass of a nearby club. Santi sat in silence, his mind running through the technical specifications of the chrome he was about to receive, actively ignoring the dark, intrusive thoughts of the Valentino bleeding in the chair below him.
Finally, after three long hours of boredom, the heavy metal door at the bottom of the stairwell clanked loudly.
Santi stood up, brushing the dirt off his cargo pants, as heavy footsteps ascended the concrete stairs.
Stepping out into the alleyway was the imposing figure of the Valentino. He was fully conscious now, wearing a dark leather jacket thrown casually over his broad shoulders. He was rolling his newly installed, synthetic arms, flexing the heavy, hydraulic-reinforced knuckles of his Gorilla Arms with a look of immense satisfaction.
"Preem work, Vik," the man called back down the stairs, his voice a booming, charismatic baritone laced with a thick Heywood accent. "I feel like I could punch a hole straight through a Basilisk!"
He turned around, intending to walk out of the alley, and nearly ran straight into Santi.
The ganger jumped back, startled, his hand instinctively dropping toward the heavy pistol holstered at his hip. He looked down at the fourteen-year-old boy standing in the shadows, taking in the pale skin, the piercing violet eyes, and the shock of stark white hair.
"Puta madre," Jackie breathed out, his eyes wide. "An albino. Spooked the absolute shit out of me, chico."
Santi didn't flinch as the anger he had suppressed in the clinic flared back to life. He looked up at the ganger, his violet eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
"Damn right your mother is," Santi fired back, not backing down a single inch.
The ganger stopped dead. The jovial, surprised expression melted off his face, instantly replaced by the hardened, violent scowl of a street-tested enforcer. He took a heavy step forward, drawing closer to Santi, the mass of his newly installed Gorilla Arms casting a menacing shadow.
"The fuck did you just say to me, jaina?" the ganger demanded, his voice dropping into a threatening rumble.
Santi didn't retreat. He actually stepped forward as well, closing the distance. He might not have had the muscle mass of a twenty-year-old ganger, but he had spent a year learning how to shatter kneecaps and crush windpipes. And after analyzing the man's stance, his mind had calculated the trajectory of a preemptive strike to the ganger's throat.
"I heard what you said," Santi hissed, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, ready to throw down. "And you heard exactly what I said."
The ganger's jaw clenched, his hands curling into hydraulic fists. The tension in the alley spiked, and the air crackled with the promise of immediate violence.
"Hey! Back the fuck off!" Vik's booming voice echoed up the stairwell. He stormed out into the alleyway, pushing himself between the two of them. He shoved a heavy hand against the ganger's chest, forcing him back a step.
"Leave my nephew alone, Jackie," Vik barked, his face flushed with anger. "He's just a fourteen-year-old kid."
Jackie blinked, his aggressive posture immediately deflating at the reprimand. He looked at Vik, then back down at Santi, his brow furrowed in profound confusion.
"Your nephew?" Jackie asked, the aggression entirely gone from his voice. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Shit, Vik. I didn't know you had any family in town. The kid's got a hell of a mouth on him."
Vik sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's... he's a friend's kid. Just let it go, Jackie. He's had a rough day."
Jackie looked down at Santi again. The violent enforcer of just a few seconds ago vanished, replaced entirely by a warm, almost golden-retriever-esque amiability. Jackie possessed a rare, genuine kindness that was almost impossible to find in Night City, and being asked to let things slide by a friend was all it took.
"Sure thing, Doc," Jackie said, smiling warmly. He looked Santi up and down, genuinely impressed. "Fourteen? Jesus, kid, you are big for your age. What the hell are they feeding you?"
Santi maintained his defensive posture for a second longer, his fists still clenched, absolutely baffled by the immediate shift in the ganger's personality. Then he blinked as the adrenaline slowly seeped out of his system.
"My mother's cooking," Santi muttered, his tone still guarded feityness in it had receded.
Jackie let out a booming, joyous laugh that echoed off the alley walls.
"Yeah, that'll do it! Nothing builds bone like a mama's cooking." Jackie extended a massive, cybernetic hand toward Santi, his expression softening into genuine apology. "Listen, chico, I'm sorry for how I acted just now. I was running hot off the anesthetics, and you spooked me. No hard feelings?"
Santi stared at the synthetic hand. Every instinct in his body, fueled by the grief of losing Leo to the Valentinos, screamed at him to spit on the man's shoes. He wanted to punch the giant in front of him, who stood a mere three inches taller than him but weighed twice as much.
But Santi looked at the genuine, open sincerity in Jackie's eyes. He thought about Vik's defense of the man, how he had "a pure heart." Santi forced his fist to uncurl and reached out, grasping the heavy, metallic hand, offering a firm, unyielding shake.
"Jackie Welles," Jackie introduced himself, flashing a wide, confident grin. "Rising 'Tino star, and future legend of the Afterlife."
Santi released the grip, slipping his hands back into the pockets of his dark grey hoodie. He offered a small nod.
"Santiago Reyes," Santi replied, his violet eyes locking onto Jackie's. "But most people just call me Santi."
---
I love stones, choom. You willing to spare some from your gig?
The infamous P@treon exists for those of you who want to read ahead.
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They get around 3 long-form weekly chapters (4.5-6k words each).