BR

Chapter 3

Viktor Vektor ran a ripper doc clinic in the building directly behind Misty's Esoterica. At eighteen, I'd gotten chipped, just like everyone else. Had the harddrive installed behind my right ear, the essential programming wired into my brain and the jack-link fitted into the base of my left palm. But I'd shied away from implants, having read one too many shards about cyberpsychosis. Plus, good cyberware cost a fuck tonna eddies and I refused to have anything less than preem fitted into my body. The good shit woulda required some serious savin' up and for a long time, it was low on my list of priorities.

First several gigs Jack and I did went to getting a dive of my own- a mid quality apartment on the 8th floor of Megabuilding H10 in Watson. Next, I forked over a couple thousand for my ride- an Archer Hella EC-D i360. Its moniker made it sound a lot cooler than it was. Car was definitely economy class and lived up to its slogan- necessity over style. But the transpo got me to the more remote parts of Night City and gave me access to some seedy-ass gigs. High payin' seedy-ass gigs. Jack'n I used to talk about what it would be like when we finally got made it into the mercenary major leagues. In our wildest dreams, we were kickin' it in a high rise luxe apartment, drinkin' Centzon tequila on the rocks and countin' our endless stacks of cash. He always told me he wasn't in jr for the eddies alone- but for the stability the eddies'd give us. No more street life. No more gangs. Just easy livin'. I guess now it was up to me to make it happen.

"Hey Vik," I said, stepping into his clinic for the first time as more than just a choom.

He was seated on a rolling stool in the corner, watching a boxing match on a shoddy old-world television screen- a relic from his childhood probably. He was in his seventies, but his cyberware kept him looking middle-aged. "V," he said, spinning to face me, "How ya doin' Kid?" He'd seen me at Jackie's service, but he knew as well as I did that I wasn't any better than I had been then, and the future didn't look too bright either.

"Preem," I replied, sarcasm dripping from the single syllable. The one side of my unmarred mouth lifted into a jackass smirk. "Never better."

He chuckled, deeply and then stood up and came to take my hand. "Well you here to do something about it or-?"

"What would you say if I told you I was?"

"I'd say it's about damn time." His eyes were kind but they were hidden behind dark sunglasses. I was honestly surprised that he could see through them in such a dimly lit room. "In the chair, Kid."

His operation table was an old leather dentist chair with a bunch of surrounding screens and a Jack-link hook up. He motioned for me to plug myself in and I pulled the cord from my wrist and inserted it into slot on the monitor to my lift. Right away, the computer started to whir as linux code scrolled by at unreadable screens. He watched it for a moment and then grunted in recognition.

"Slug's still implanted in your thigh," he said.

"Yeah."

"No one can ever say you're not tough, Kid." He went back to reading the binary gibberish on the screen and after a minute followed up with- "Whoever got aholda you did a real number, didn't they? You're a messa injuries V. I saw Jackie when they brought him in and even zeroed he looked in better condition than you seem to be." He came forward, and gingerly, he removed the bandages from my face. I winced and he whistled in response. "Shit. Can you even see outta that eye?"

I licked my dry, cracked lips and shook my head. "No."

He sat back on his stool and studied me for a moment. I think I saw something close to pity in the pinch of his thick dark eyebrows. He folded his arms over his chest- one untouched by mechanics but decorated in pre-war tats, the other skeletal and robotic. "Listen Kid," he finally said, "I know you're not here because you wanna be. I know Eddie's don't burn a hole in the pocket of your Yoros. Jackie always said you were the financial one. Responsible, economic, good head on your shoulders. I know even without Jack, at your best you'd be shootin' straight up. But I'm gonna give it to you straight V- you're not at your best. You're pretty close to bein' at your worst actually. You're one shake away from falling apart. And I know that's not what you wanna hear. You probably expected to come in here and I give you some drugs and work some cyber magic and get you back to preem as you call it. That's not gonna happen. I'm a ripper doc- not a miracle worker. I can't fix you V."

I nodded, closed my good eye and considered my other options. I could go see Mama Wells and see if she could get me a job bartending' at The Coyote or-

"But," Viktor Vektor continued, bringing me back out of my musings, "I can make you better."

The thought of servin' king size Abydos to the scum of Watson for the rest of my days had me pretty close to considering suicide. I figured I had nothing left to lose, so instead, I just went ahead and put it all on the table. "I got 12k to my name Vik. What'll that get me?"

"A coupla tiny implants. Mostly back alley cyber merch," he said.

"Oh."

He chuckled again. "Don't look at me like that. I'm gonna hook you up Kid. Promised Jack I would whenever the time finally came."

"But you just said anything good is outta my price range."

He was already up and moving around the shop, getting together a tray of instruments. "We'll talk about eddies later," he said, "just give me the okay and I'll take it from here."

A big part of me was screaming to unhook myself from his machine and delta the hell outta there. But I could see Jackie, blood spilling from the side of his mouth, leanin' against my shoulder in the cab. "Promise me Chica," he said, his grip on the front of my shirt getting weaker with every ragged breath he took, "Big leagues, okay? Make it to the big leagues.."

I set my chin and waited until Vic turned back around. Then I said, "Okay."