Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

David

David falls onto the couch with a loud sigh. His legs and lungs burn with exertion as he catches his breath after the jog with Lucy he just returned from. The cozy atmosphere of the safe house helps to lower his heart rate and relax him. The man from Santo sinks into the plush cushions of the furniture in between Maine and Rebecca. 

Although scooting over to make room for him on the couch, Rebecca quickly closes some of the short distance between them to bump shoulders with David. When she doesn’t look up from scrolling on her phone, he just assumes it was her way of greeting him.

Maine gives him a small smile and a nod befitting his usual demeanor. With casual movements he lights up a second bulky cigar. Fragrant yet pungent smoke fills the small space only a moment later, mixing with the already dingy atmosphere of the safe house.

It’s been three exhilarating months since he first joined the crew. Ever since his first job where he stole that Arasaka bodyguard’s car, things have been going smoothly enough so far. Most of the gang’s members trust him to be out on his own on missions now, and some of them are even starting to respect his skills and determination. Despite his successes, David wants to become stronger. There’s no avoiding the fact that his companions like Maine and Lucy saved his skin more than a few times in early missions.

If he wants to return the favor, then he needs to keep moving forward and improving his capabilities.

Once he has recovered from some of his exhaustion, David speaks up. “I’ve been thinking about getting some synth lungs to help my stamina during gigs. You two got anything you prefer?”

Rebecca smiles and leans forward. “David, my man, you are talking to the right people!” She says with a huge smile. Behind her eyes, David can already see gears turning as she considers possible options for the young mercenary.

Maine nods his head in agreement. “You’re talking to two of the biggest chrome junkies in the squad. I’m sure we can find something to suit your needs, dawg.” The leader says in a friendly tone. With a smirk, he passes the lit cigar to David, lifting an eyebrow.

Wanting to fit in, he eagerly accepts the thick bundle of tobacco and takes a large inhale. A violent coughing fit follows as his body desperately tries to expel the smoke from his lungs.

A chorus of laughter fills the safe house at the display. When he first joined, David would have been upset at being so thoroughly embarrassed. But, now that he knows it’s good natured, he half heartedly complains about the horrible taste before listening in on his companions.

Maine and Rebecca continue giving him various model recommendations while they all sit on the couch in the safe house. Lucy enters the room and opens the door to the balcony. A gorgeous evening view of Night City is able to be seen from their high end penthouse. The net-runner sticks half of her body out of the balcony door as she smokes, allowing her to listen to the conversation without flooding the room with smoke like Maine is. An odd showing of consideration; all things considered.

David accepted all of their recommendations eagerly, making mental notes of ideas he finds to be the best fit for him. Once there is a break in the conversation, he asks a simple question. “Oh, while I’m at it, chooms. Do you guys bring your own stuff to bite on during the surgery? The bite bar that Doc has on his table hurt my teeth when I got the Sandy implanted, so I was looking for recommendations for that too.”

Maine and Rebecca share a quick look between each other before the short girl starts to nervously laugh. “Ha, good one David!” She says with an uneasy smile as her eyes continue to roam the room. Against her better judgement, she hopes to see some of the others take the statement as some sort of weird joke.

Maine remains silent, his face stoic and unmoving behind a veil of thick smoke. 

David doesn’t smile or laugh, he just shoots Rebecca a confused look. “I ain’t joking. Sorry if I’m asking too much out of you guys, that’s my bad.” Their newest member says apologetically, thinking that his two teammates are just tired of educating him on basic matters.

Maine stirs from behind the smoke, arching his brow. Just when he’s about to speak up and ask a question, movement across the room draws his attention. 

Lucy sighs deeply, flicking her cigarette over the balcony and into the cool evening air before slamming the balcony door closed. Only half smoked; what a waste, but not as much so as the man she’s considering ending the life of. She walks right up in front of David and puts her hands on his shoulders, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them by shaking your head yes or no.” She says, a deadly serious glare making her eyes shine with bottomless malice.

David, thoroughly intimidated and not wanting to aggravate the Netrunner any further, simply nods his head yes in response. Although any words of protest or confusion that should be said flood his mind, he can’t quite make his lips move to form them.

The Netrunner continues. “The person who installed the Sandevistan is the same ripper that I brought you to the day I met you?” Lucy asks softly. Her voice is serious but not accusatory or condescending. Similar to one a detective would use when questioning a witness to a crime.

David nods his head yes. The aura emanating from the woman in front of him makes him lean back into his seat in a subconscious effort to get farther away from her. The shoddy wooden construction creaks and groans under the weight of the man, while his own mind does this same under the weight of Lucy’s heavy implications.

He sends Rebecca a quick glance, half expecting her to intervene as she often does when Lucy gets into one of her moods. The only thing he finds on her face is the same stoic yet concerned look painted on Maine’s. It seems she won’t be the one to intervene after all.

“When this man installed the Sandevistan, he didn’t put you on any kind of sedative or painkiller?” Lucy continues her questioning with a hawklike stare.

David nods his head yes, somewhat more nervously this time. Where is all of this going, isn’t that just common practice? Doc always said something about painkillers and sedatives interfering with how cyberware integrates with the body.

“Instead of drugging you, he had you bite down on a metal bar and work your way through the pain yourself?” The Netrunner asks pointedly. Although her demeanor once carried a hint of emotion when the questioning first began, no such thing is present anymore. Nothing but cold, emotionless eyes stare back at him as he glances upward.

David nods his head yes, thoroughly nervous with a thin sheet of sweat on his brow.

It’s at this point that the rest of those in attendance realize what’s going on and what is most likely to happen next.

“Is this man’s clinic still in the same place it was last time we went there?” Lucy asks with a degree of finality.

David, after a noticeable delay, nods his head yes. A drop of sweat, reflecting the dim but nonetheless colorful lighting of the hideout, falls from his face and into the floor. Though the sound represents an almost imperceptible outcry compared to the dim noise of Night City, it shatters the fragile atmosphere like a bullet to a pane of glass.

“Thank you, David, you’ve been very helpful.” Lucy says through a smile before removing her arms from his shoulders and striding across the room. Lucy’s heels make a hollow clicking sound against the safe house’s sturdy floors.

The other part of the safe house’s living room is a wall of weapon lockers. The Netrunner heads directly to hers and opens it with a metallic creak, retrieving her Arasaka manufactured Tamayura handgun. She checks the magazine to make sure it’s loaded, checks the chamber to ensure a bullet is ready, holsters it, and moves to the exit door without saying a word.

The sound of the locker slamming closed snaps David out of his trance. Just as Lucy reaches for the door handle, he speaks up with a nervous voice. “Uh, Lucy. What are you doing?”

Rebecca facepalms next to him. “David, you lovable idiot, you really have no idea what’s going on do you?” She asks incredulously as she leans back into the couch. As a silent showing of support, she leans her shoulder into his as she speaks. 

Davis shakes his head while responding. “I’ve got no idea. Something about my implant?” He suggests hesitantly, his brown eyes roaming the room to gauge the reactions of his companions. Unfortunately, his brown eyes find determined or resigned expressions among those in attendance. It seems everybody is on the same page… except for him.

“Anybody…?” David continues in a small voice. 

Maine barks out a quick laugh. To anyone that knows him well, the laughter is of a kind forced out in a vain attempt to bring ease to a stressful situation. “Kid, you’re supposed to be knocked out when you get an implant installed. Especially if it’s one that’s linked into your nervous system.” The large man points a metal finger at the Sandevistan on David’s back. “But, he didn’t do that. Means the guy’s a sick kinda sadist, I don’t imagine you’re the first one he’s done that to.” The leader continues with an edge of steel entering his voice.

David’s eyes widened. “Doc… did that to me… on purpose?” He says slowly, not quite believing the betrayal that he’s just been informed of. It’s not like Doc was ever an outstanding member of society, but this is on another level entirely. What reason could he possible have to do something like this?

Maine puts a comforting hand on David’s back. “You ain’t learned this yet, but you will. Don’t trust so easily, and don’t be so surprised by betrayal.” He says in a gentle, almost fatherly tone. “Usually when somebody stabs you in the back in this city, it’s to save their own ass or make money. Your ripper just did it for fun, cause he enjoyed it.”

”Could just be that he wanted to take the Sandevistan off of your corpse. That kind of installation and lack of immuno-suppressants can zero almost anyone.” Lucy notes as she checks a few more pieces of gear. “Not that it makes him any less guilty.”

Rebecca loudly scoffs on the other side of the couch as she leaps upwards in an impressive gymnastic display. After walking over to her locker, she grabs a M2038 Tactician, one of her many shotguns. Slowly and with no shortage of malice, she loads shells into the tube while speaking. “Which is exactly why he needs to die! Sickos like that don’t deserve to breathe the same air as someone like you, David.” She says vehemently, violently working the pump on the shotgun with one hand.

It’s only after that statement that David catches onto their plan. “Wait, you can’t just kill Doc! That’s murder!” He tries to get up off of the couch, but Maine holds him back with his other hand.

“Let ‘em go, kid.” Maine says firmly. “This needs to be done.”

Lucy opens the door out of the apartment and holds it open for Rebecca. As the door closes, David can see that her multicolored eyes are laced with concern and hatred in equal measure. Rebecca is less reserved with a fiery scowl plastered on her face. Finally, the metallic door closes with a thunderous crash.

David can’t remember the last time he saw either of them this mad. 

Something about the sight makes David sit back on the couch as the door closes shut. With a fleeting sense of hope he stares at the slab of metal as if expecting them to walk back through; a look portraying the pair’s change of heart present on their faces. Maybe they will come back with laughter and smiles, saying it was all just a joke they pulled on the new guy.

No such event occurs. Only the steady thrum of the mega-building and stench of burning tobacco fill David’s mind.

“They shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t just murder people because we can and they might deserve it.” David says with concern, looking up at Maine’s face.

The large man shakes his head in disagreement. “You really want to let him do the same thing to other people that he did to you? Scumbags like that have a way of wiggling away from the cops and prisons. He won’t stop unless we stop him. Ya dig?” Maine looks down at David after he finishes speaking, waiting for his reaction.

David closes his eyes and leans back on the couch. He understands the wisdom in his leader’s words. The whole situation just feels wrong, but he can’t help but feel like Maine’s words are true. If Doc lives, even if they scare the hell out of him or call the badges, it’s only a matter of time before he does it again. 

Does Doc need to die? No, David decides almost immediately. But, the natural follow up to such a question immediately leans on his mind like a slab of granite. What’s the alternative? Rehabilitation? The rookie almost laughs at the mere thought of such a thing. NCPD has barely enough resources to stop prolific gangs and serial killers, much less a sadist of which they have no real evidence. With a heavy heart David realizes the reality of the situation he’s found himself in.

The young man opens his eyes and nods his head. “You’re right. It’s for the best that he goes down. I just hope we don’t make a habit of this.” David says with a heavy note of apprehension.

Maine smiles and pats him on the back with one of his massive cybernetic hands. “Have a little faith, dawg. We’re soldiers of fortune here, not cold blooded killers. We kill bad guys for money. I wouldn’t lead you astray into killing innocent people, you got my word.” He says genuinely.

David is momentarily shocked by his honest tone and promise. It’s rare for the stoic man to speak like this at all, which causes the young man to weigh his words even heavier. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry for being so touchy about the whole thing. Guess I need to grow a pair huh?” He jokes in a self-deprecating manner. If the rookie is to be truthful with himself, he still doubts the actions taking place at his half-hearted behest. Regardless of any amount of indecision, he realizes that events have already moved well beyond his control.

Maine chuckles a little bit before responding with a more gentle tone. “You’re still young and new to this whole thing, you’ll learn with time.” He moves one of his robotic arms to lightly punch David on the shoulder. “Plus, you having a heart ain’t a bad thing. It adds to the whole “golden retriever” energy thing you got going. It certainly works on the ladies.” He barks out another laugh as he stands from the couch.

David his head in confusion. “Golden retriever energy? That’s a weird way to put it.” He muses as he stands from the couch and faces Maine again. Finally, his brain catches up with what the large man said. “Wait, what! Works on the ladies? What are you talking about?” He asks incredulously, not at all understanding the implications of such a statement. 

Maine chuckles and turns back around to face him. “Rebecca was right, you really are clueless sometimes. You just had two beautiful young women run out of this room to go kill somebody that hurt you, without a second thought. You got 'em wrapped around your finger already.” He says with a sly grin. “Lotta guys out there would kill for something like that. Make sure you don’t fuck it up.”

David chooses not to respond, simply staring at one of the walls ahead of him, unblinking. The rollercoaster of emotions he has experienced in the last ten minutes is already taking a toll on his sanity.

Maine sets a hand on the new guy’s shoulder and speaks with a smile. “I gotta delta, trying to land us a new job with a client. I’m gonna have Dorio and Becca take you out to a ripper that does work for most of us.” His eyes light up, indicating that he’s sending a message or a call. “That Doc guy definitely has no idea what he’s doing, so I want you to get looked at by someone reputable that’s a certified professional. Well, at least as close to that as you can get in Night City. Make sure nothing dangerous is going on with that Sandy.” Maine finishes speaking as he reaches the door and opens it.

David turns to ask him one more question before he departs. “Wait. This Ripperdoc you’re sending me to. What’s his name?”

Maine turns around at the doors threshold with a slight smile. He laughs and responds.

“He operates outta Watson, near to the Afterlife.”

The large man puts on his sunglasses and turns back around to leave, but not before revealing the man’s identity.

“Viktor Vektor.”

Dorio navigates the narrow streets of Watson with a critical eye. Although not the most dangerous part of Night City, letting your guard down anywhere was just asking to get zeroed. Every rooftop, darkened alley, or pedestrian with baggy clothing could conceal a lethal threat. She was getting older, more so than almost every merc she knew, outside of Maine. She didn’t get that way by taking risks.

Rebecca is in the passenger's seat looking extremely bored. Dorio knows that it’s mostly an act, though. The shorter woman is incredibly good at looking unassuming and non-threatening, which is by far her biggest asset; partly due to her stature but mostly due to her skill of blending in and acting unconcerned. At the drop of a hat she could whip out one of her shotguns and cut an adversary in half. A wolf in sheep’s clothing wouldn’t be an inaccurate description.

David is in the backseat feeling like a child being taken to a doctor's appointment. The thought strikes a sad note in his head, remembering all the times his mother took him out for such things. He shoves the memories out of his mind for the moment as they pull into a parking space. The young man stows his iron in the back of his waistband and steps out onto the street of Little China.

Ahead of them is an abnormally wide alleyway that hosts various shops and services on each side. As they make their way forward, David sees a man that appears to be dressed in a garbage bag and spouting deranged conspiracy theories. The young man chooses to ignore him and avoid any kind of eye contact. Another skill that his mother taught him.

Criers hawk random wares outside of the stores while scantily dressed individuals advertise the flesh trade. The sight of such people, more particularly their lack of clothing, still makes David blush as he walks past them. Finally, they pull up to a more standard set of businesses. One of which has a neon mint colored sign reading ‘Misty’s Esoterica’. The man from Santo is surprised when Dorio hangs a left to enter the shop. 

Perhaps she has realized that only the paranormal could fix the Sandevistan now? David can’t help but somewhat agree, but overall decides that such a thing is unlikely. So he follows her inside, quickly followed by Rebecca. The inside carries a strong musk of burning incense. Assorted trinkets like running water fountains and miniature automatic gongs fill the room with relaxing ambience. Almost immediately, some of the tension he was carrying in his shoulders melts away.

The most interesting sight in the room was the figure behind the counter. An unusual looking girl with a strange haircut, heavy makeup, and punk clothing. David assumes that she’s the Misty from the sign out front. 

Misty’s eyes widen with recognition when she sees Dorio and Rebecca enter her shop. “Hey you two. Here to see Vik? He’s in his clinic right now.” She says with an even voice and calm smile. Her head tilts slightly when she spots David trailing the two veterans. “This the newbie that Maine was talking about?” The esoteric girl asks curiously, raising an eyebrow towards the stoic woman.

Dorio nods her head before responding. “Yeah he’s the guy. Maine wants his cyberware checked out before the next gig. Got installed by some back alley gonk so it might have a few crossed wires.” The large woman says with an annoyed tone. She walks up and wraps Misty in a loose hug, followed by Rebecca.

Once the warm embraces come to an end, Misty responds with a hum. “Sounds serious. I’m sure Vik will be able to set you straight. Head on in, you three.” She says kindly while gesturing to the door behind her. The strange girl waves at them as they exit into the back alleyway and David waves back.

Turning his head forward, the first thing he notices is the staircase that seems to be from an old subway system leading downwards. The second thing he notices is the small hairless cat making itself comfortable nearby. Such a sight is rare, and David kneels down and pets the small creature with a huge smile, allowing it to smell his hand first.

Unbeknownst to him, Rebecca and Dorio stop in their tracks and watch the exchange with a warm smile. This boy that they have only known for a handful of months now never fails to surprise him with the depths of his kindness and consideration. 

Rebecca has never been the best with her emotions, but she presumes David’s kindness despite his circumstances is part of the reason she went through such lengths to deal with his old ripper doc that hurt him so cruelly. Thankfully, that scumbag was now rotting in a dumpster in Japantown. Several dumpsters, actually. Lucy wanted to test out her new Monowire upgrade. A win-win if Rebecca’s ever seen one.

“Come on kid, you can play with the wildlife later. Don’t want to keep old Viky waiting longer than we have to.” Dorio reprimands while standing at the top of the stairs.

David mumbles out a quick apology, embarrassed for losing focus so easily. He hastily makes his way down the stairs to the ripper doc’s clinic. 

Dorio opens up the metal grating that acts as a sort of door and gestures for the young man to enter first.

Stepping inside the dank interior of the former subway station, David gets his first look at the man.

Viktor is a middle-aged man with a powerful build and dark hair. He idly plays with his robotic hand that he uses for surgeries as he stares towards a computer on his desk. Light from the screen dances across his face and the darkened room, his eyes scan the boxing match being played with an analytical gaze belonging to a seasoned expert. After several moments a bell can be heard, signaling the end of the match recording. The ripper doc turns to address his visitors shortly after.

“Ah, Rebecca and Dorio. Maine said you would be stopping by.” He says in a kind tone with a deep voice. A friendly smile comes over his face as he studies the young mercenary. “And you must be David. Nice to meet you, young man.” Viktor continues as he stands up from his chair and shakes his hand with a firm grip.

David finds himself liking the man already. Calm and friendly individuals like the one in front of him are a rare sight in Night City. After the handshake concludes, he speaks. “That’s me. Thanks in advance for your help, Viktor. Sorry to cause you so much trouble.” The young man says as he rubs his neck sheepishly.

Viktor waves his hand dismissively and gestures to the operating chair. “Chair, please. And don’t worry about it, kid. Maine and I go way back. Not to mention it’s good for business.” He reassures the young mercenary climbing into the chair.

David is relieved to see a lack of any kind of bite bar in the operating area. Already, he feels much safer than he ever did at Doc’s clinic. He takes several moments to adjust his position in the chair until he’s comfortable.

The ripper doc reaches into a small refrigerator and pulls out a syringe. Flicking the needle twice, he looks to David for his consent to begin the operation. “Just gonna take a quick peek around the Sandevistan to see if anything is wrong. Shouldn’t be out more than an hour. Are you ready to begin?” He asks with a friendly smile.

David nods his head. An edge of cold nervousness worms its way into his mind. What if he is the same as Doc? But, then again, Maine and the others seem to trust him, and they haven’t let him astray yet.

Viktor sticks the syringe into his arm and hits the plunger, injecting the liquid and knocking David out almost instantly and sending him into a dreamless sleep. Shortly after that, the Ripperdoc lowers the back of the chair into the bed position and flips the boy over. He gets a clean scalpel attached to his cybernetic hand and gets to work.

After only several minutes of investigation, Viktor can be heard loudly growling in frustration.

Dorio, curious as to what is going on, stands up from her chair and walks up beside the man. “Vik? What’s going on? Don’t much like the sound of-“ Her words die in her throat as she stares at the small handheld x-ray screen being held by the Ripperdoc.

A countless multitude of wires can be seen on the display. None of them show any kind of consistency, mostly being arrayed in something resembling a plate of spaghetti. Wires are lazily tied to nerve endings and shackles are loosely fitted to David’s spine. Even to an untrained eye, any layman could tell that something was deeply wrong with the installation.

“Connectivity to David’s nervous system is at 27% according to my instruments. In theory, he should have fried his brain stem the second he powered this thing on for the first time. The ripper who installed this… must have been trying to kill him. Or he’s the worst Ripperdoc I’ve ever come across.” Viktor says with cold fury and apprehension. 

It’s no secret in Night City that Ripperdocs are held in high regard due to their expertise and responsibility with a patient that’s at their mercy. Unprofessionalism and laziness like this not only hurts the Ripper that installed it, but also reflects poorly on the profession as a whole. This installation resembles a murder attempt more than a procedure.

“We should take this to NCPD, at the very least.” Viktor states, barely managing to bring back his usual calm demeanor. “This… can’t be allowed to continue, accidental or not.”

Of all those assembled, Rebecca is by far the most enraged as she stands next to Dorio and stares at the screen. “Not gonna be necessary, Vik. We took care of him already. Now I’m just wishing we didn’t end it so fast… he deserved to suffer more.” She grits the words out from behind clenched teeth.

Viktor nods his head sagely in understanding. An eye for an eye is the standard for justice in Night City. From where the former boxer was standing, Rebecca and Lucy’s actions are more than justified. Truthfully, if the offending ripper was still alive, Viktor would have considered contacting a fixer to put a bounty out.

It seems they saved him the time and money by exacting justice first.

Changing the subject, the Ripperdoc continues his previous task of learning about and fixing David’s implants. “So, how many times a day did he use this thing? For an average person, no more than three uses a day is standard for a Sandevistan. With this shoddy installation even one activation should have killed him.” Viktor continues while putting a finger to his chin in thought.

Rebecca slumps back into her chair before responding. “When we’re out on a mission? Anywhere from four to eight depending on how south things go. On an average day it’s one or two times, but Lucy and I are trying to convince him to not use it unless it’s life or death.” She admits with frustration. The short woman is very fond of the young mercenary, but often finds herself beyond frustrated with his stubborn attitude.

Viktor whistles and speaks under his breath. “Eight times? Jesus Christ.” He says incredulously before raising his voice. “David must have one of the highest Cyberware capacities I’ve ever seen. Maybe even the highest. 99.9% of the population would’ve died after the first usage.” He admits, his voice taking on an intrigued quality.

Dorio chimes in next, her tone extremely worried. “Can you fix it, Vik?” 

“Of course I can. That’s why you came to me, isn’t it?” The Ripperdoc responds, already getting to work.

Instead of the promised sixty minutes, what seems like an endless procedure takes place in the dark and damp cellar. Countless wires are disconnected and reconnected into their proper places. Nerve endings are repaired and properly linked. Software updates for the Sandevistan, along with David’s other implants, are run in the background. Viktor’s focus never wavers even for a moment as his robotic hand moves perfectly and quickly to correct any and all mistakes. Rebecca assists on the doctor’s orders, injecting measured doses of painkillers, immuno-suppressants, and propofol.

Finally, after just over an eight hour procedure, the work is at last completed. Slowly, David rises from his prolonged slumber. Almost immediately he feels much better than when he arrived. His vision is much clearer and the Sandevistan, which usually feels like a backpack only loosely attached to his skin, now whirs and hums in perfect harmony with his body. A slow smile creeps onto his face at the feeling. “Damn Viktor, I feel like a whole new man! You’re something else if it only takes you an hour to help me feel this good!” David states with enthusiasm as he looks at the Ripperdoc.

Viktor can’t help the gentle smile that graces his features when he hears the young man’s enthusiasm. “Thanks kid. But you were under a lot longer than an hour, more like eight.” 

To back up his statement, Rebecca nods solemnly next to the Ripper.

David’s eyes glance at the grated entrance to the clinic, quickly noticing that the afternoon sun has transitioned into the murky darkness of night. Dorio’s large figure sleeping in one of the chairs is also a clear indication of time’s passing. Her gentle snoring hammering home the point even further.

David is no fool, he realizes why Viktor’s time estimate must have been surpassed by so much. Apprehensively, he asks. “It was bad, wasn’t it? I guess Maine was right.” He says as he swings his legs over the operating table and stands up. 

Viktor nods in response. Walking over to a nearby computer, he types in a simple command and spins the hanging monitor around. “Bad is an understatement. Take a look for yourself.” He states grimly before taking a seat once again. The monitor shows before and after X-rays of the wiring for the implant.

The before picture nearly makes David vomit. A messy jumble of wires with no real rhyme or reason is attached to his spine. The large text reading ‘27% CONNECTIVITY’ does little to ease his nausea.

The after picture, however, restores his spirits and leaves him in a bit of awe over the Ripperdoc’s abilities. Rows upon rows of neatly stacked and oriented wires run through his body just under the surface of his skin, perfectly symmetrical on either side of the implant. Instead of a plate of spaghetti, the wires now resemble a bird’s eye view of a very well designed city’s roads. Each one serves a purpose that has been thoroughly planned out and executed. The words ‘100% CONNECTIVITY’ are the cherry on top.

Viktor watches the rollercoaster of emotions pass over the young man’s face with amusement. 

Rebecca has a satisfied smile at the after picture, pleased that their newest and youngest member no longer has a ticking time bomb strapped to his spine.

Dorio, oblivious to the exchange, continues snoring away in the corner.

David turns to Viktor. “Doc… I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this. Looks to me like you saved my life. I don’t care if it takes me my whole life from now on but I’ll pay whatever price you ask.” The young man says genuinely, his eyes returning to look at the before picture with grim fascination.

The Ripperdoc flicks the monitor off, not wanting the young mercenary to dwell too much on the bullet he just dodged. “This one’s free, kid.” Viktor says with a smile and he falls back into his seat.

David moves to protest, but before he can get a full word out, Viktor puts a finger up to silence him. “Before you object, let me explain. Bad Ripperdocs are very bad for business, makes people want to get less implants. In your case, if some news company got a hold of this X-ray showing your old Doc’s work, I’d see a considerable revenue drop. Cleaning up shoddy work like this helps me more than you would guess.” He explains. 

After a moment, Viktor looks back at David. “This is free, but under one condition.”

“Anything.” David responds without hesitation, subconsciously leaning forward in his seat. 

“You need more gear in the future, you come to me.” Viktor explains with a smile.

David barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Choom, I was already gonna do that much. But sure thing, it’s a deal.” He says while holding his hand out to shake the Ripperdoc’s.

Viktor accepts the handshake without hesitation, the cold feeling of his robotic fingers only slightly uncomfortable. “Oh, one more thing.” He walks over to a small cooler and pulls out two paper bags, one much larger than the other. “Batch of immuno-suppressants for Maine. Mind delivering them to him? Small bag is for you.” The Ripperdoc explains helpfully.

David accepts the bags with a grateful smile. Several goodbyes later, and the trio of mercs is walking out through the Esoterica to return to their vehicle.

Misty waves them goodbye from behind the counter as they walk past, quickly returning to shuffling an odd looking deck of cards in front of her. One of her slender fingers picks one of them off the top and sets it down on the counter.

“The Tower… reversed.” Misty mumbles under her breath, raising her head to catch a quick look at David before he disappears around the corner.

“Hm… interesting…”

The car ride back to the safe house is mostly silent, until Rebecca pipes up. “Ya know, I think you really dodged a bullet there. I’d hate to see what woulda happened if that had gone untreated.”

David nods his head in agreement, looking out the window of the vehicle with a small smile. A small break in the smog above the city reveals a perfectly full moon shining above.

“I got a feeling everything's gonna be alright.”

Chapter Text

V

“V, choom, are you in there?”

A female voice calls from outside, muffled by the thick canvas of the tent surrounding him. V sighs and closes the book he is reading with a resounding thud. A splash of dust and sand is sent swirling into the air due to the thin paper of its pages. The shrill sound of somebody knocking on one of the metallic tent poles causes him to wince with annoyance.

“Hellooooo?” The speaker continues in a sing-song voice. 

“Yeah, what do you need?” V calls back as he sets the book on a nearby table. Well, technically it’s a large pelican case he uses to store ammo that’s been flipped upside down, but making what you need out of what you have is how you survive in the badlands.

“Dude, can I just come in?” The voice asks with a hint of annoyance, clearly disappointed that they haven’t been let in already.

V rubs his temples, feeling a headache coming on, before responding. “Fine.” He says with a grumble, throwing himself out of his cot causing the rickety furniture to squeak in protest. Walking over to the flap of the tent, he throws it open to let the speaker come inside.

A woman steps inside and out of the harsh desert sun. She’s fairly short, standing more than a few heads under the towering form of V. Not a single inch of her skin is visible beneath layers of loose cloth draped over her body. Her head is wrapped in a shemagh while large tinted goggles cover her eyes. Strapped across her back is a rifle nearly as tall as she is. A large scope rests on top of it, its lenses covered by a dust cloth to prevent damage from flying sand.

“Took you long enough, you gonk.” She says with a grumble of annoyance. Wasting no time at all and without asking for permission, she throws herself onto V’s cot and gets comfortable.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Vic.” V says in a clearly ironic tone, moving across the small tent to sit on the other end of the pelican case that serves as the room’s only table.

The now named Vic shuffles slightly until she’s comfortable before looking up at V, her expression unreadable behind the scarf and large goggles. “I heard some rumors… that you are taking jobs in Night City now.” She states in a quieter and more subdued tone, not trusting the thin fabric of the tent to preserve their privacy.

V glances around at the walls of his tent, checking for any shadows silhouetted against it that would indicate a nearby presence. Finding nothing, he grunts in affirmation before responding. “Yeah, that’s right. What about it?” He asks semi-defensively.

“Some of the others are saying that you are thinking of leaving the family.” Vic suggests hesitantly, her head turning to stare at the sparse decorations inside the tent.

V sighs, shaking his head as his mouth twists into a small frown. “No, I’m not leaving the Bakkers.” He states confidently as his eyes move to stare into the expressionless goggles of the shrouded woman.

“Hm.” She responds simply with a humming noise in her throat. “It’s dangerous, you know. Nomads like us aren’t meant for the big city. It would be safer to take jobs out in the badlands.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical of you, but I know.” V answers in a softer voice, some of the annoyance in his system draining away. “But… don’t tell me you haven’t seen what’s happening to the clan, Vic.”

She freezes in place for a moment before swiveling her head from side to side as if looking for someone who may be eavesdropping, mirroring the same nervous behavior previously exhibited by V. Seemingly satisfied with her search, she speaks up. “All families go through rough times, but that’s no reason to give up on them.”

“It’s more than that this time.” V states confidently as he crosses his arms. “If the boss decides that the Bakkers need to join Snake Nation, then the family goes with it.”

“He isn’t going to do that, V. There’s no way he would.” Vic retorts. As silence permeates the air, V can feel her shrouded eyes break contact with his. The scarf moves as if she is biting her bottom lip and her hands wring together as she waits for a response.

V wants to yell at her and ask how she could be so naive. The Bakkers are all but finished, anybody with any kind of sense would be able to tell you that. Nomad clans don’t die with a bang, but a whimper, fading quietly into nothingness until nobody can even remember the name. Even with that being said, he can’t just leave. If he raises concerns or abandons his family when there’s no tangible fractures, he will be labeled as an outcast, ruining his chances of finding a new clan to join. Those labeled outcasts often end up joining the Raffen Shiv, a clan composed of the absolute dregs of the wasteland. Rapists, thieves, and murders that wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else.

V would rather die than be forced to join the Raffens, making a few more months or even years with the Bakkers seems like a pittance in comparison.

“You don’t know that. We’re tearing apart at the seams, Vic. I don’t know how much longer it will be until he finally caves.” V says before standing up from his seated position. No matter where he sits or stands in the room, he just can’t quite seem to get comfortable. “I joined this clan as a kid because I believed in freedom and everything else the Bakkers stood for. If we join Snake Nation… everything that means a damn to us goes down the fuckin’ drain.”

It’s harsh, and for a moment V considers apologizing to her for being so aggressive. But, some part of him knows that realizing what the Bakkers are becoming is not something she will realize without a serious wake up call. Sometimes, tough love is the only love that works.

Vic lowers her head for a moment and her shoulders droop slightly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just blindly optimistic because I was born into this clan.” She says before raising her head to look back at V. “But, I can’t leave, not now. I have to give them a chance and believe that the boss will make the right decision.”

V nods his head slowly as he hears her reasoning. It’s not like he doesn’t understand; every nomad is attached to their clan in more ways than just physical dependence. Every aspect of their lifestyle requires complete and total trust in other members of the family. There’s no badges and no rules in the badlands to keep you safe, just the people standing next to you. And, if that trust begins to break down and you no longer believe that other members have the family’s best interests at heart, then the whole system begins to unravel.

“I understand, I’m not asking you to go with me on this, and I already said I won’t be leaving yet.” V relents after a few moments of comfortable silence, a breath he didn’t know he was holding flows past his lips. “I just… can’t stand by and watch idly as everything falls apart. I need to give myself some options, expand my horizons.”

Vic shakes her head and leans back on the rickety cot, clearly not pleased with the man’s resignation but not able to do anything about it. “Alright, fine, not like I can stop you if you did leave.” She raises her head once again, staring at him from behind her opaque goggles. “That being said… I’m glad you’re not leaving yet… at least not until we know for sure.”

“What’s with this ‘we’ business? All of a sudden?” V asks with a hint of amusement. “But yeah, I wasn't planning on it. Not trying to be labeled an outcast or anything.”

“Good, that means you haven’t completely lost your mind yet. I’ve had my doubts about that.” Vic states with a hint of humor, drawing circles in the air next to her head with her finger to accentuate the point.

A comfortable silence settles over the tent as the two retreat into their own minds, mulling over the future and past of the clan. Family is always complicated and always changing, whether they be biological or otherwise. Towing the fine line between supporting your clan no matter what and trying to preserve your own values and safety is a delicate dance, one much harder than he had ever expected. And V knows he is terrible at dancing.

A small giggle from Vic breaks the quiet atmosphere.

“What? What is it?” V says, unable to keep a smile off of his own face.

“You remember when we were kids, it would have been right after you joined the clan… maybe eight or so years ago.” Vic says wistfully. She readjusts herself on the cot to stare at the canvas ceiling of the tent, almost as if watching the memories play out on its otherwise featureless surface. “We used to sneak into old man Aldrecht’s garage after dark.”

V lets out a laugh of his own, letting his mind be swept away in the current of their shared memories. “Yeah, we would klep parts from him to add to our own rigs. Paid the sentries to look the other way with whatever booze we could find scavenging.”

“That old man raised every kind of hell once he caught us. I thought right then and there that we would both be labeled outcasts.” Vic adds humorously.

V chuckles and shakes his head. “The boss made us dig and fill latrines for four straight months. But… I’d say it was worth it. I still use the flexible disc coupling we klepped from old man Aldrecht’s garage in my rig.”

Vic audibly gasps and leans forward in the cot, causing it to creak and groan in protest. “No way, are you for real?!”

“I’m for real for real. It’s a good piece of equipment, I’d hate for it to go to waste.” V says with a casual shrug, but is unable to keep the small grin of satisfaction off of his face.

“Victoria! Where are you!? Victoria!” A male voice yells from across camp, his booming voice still easily heard despite both the distance and thick canvas of the tent.

Vic visibly deflates as she hears her name being called. The tenseness that lingered in her shoulders when she first entered comes back once again. Like a woman being led to the gallows, she dramatically stands up from the cot and saunters towards the tent’s exit flap. She casts a forlorn glance back at V as she holds the piece of cloth open for herself.

“Be seein’ you later, V.” She says in a quiet voice before stepping halfway out of the tent and into the sandy wasteland. At the last moment, she glances back at him. “Take it from someone who would know. Never trust a soul in Night City. That goes doubly for Fixers. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t. Take care, Vic.” V says in response, seeing her off with a casual wave.

Now left alone, V sighs deeply and leans further against the plastic case he is using as a makeshift chair. However, before he can get comfortable, a message pops up over his optics.

Dakota Smith: V… come see me. I found a job for you in the city, like you requested, but I would like to discuss it in person. 

V shops up off of the plastic case with a bright smile. He finally got a gig through a Night City Fixer. Maybe this will be the ticket to a stream of work outside of the badlands, something that could get him on more steady ground in case the worst should come to pass within the Bakkers. Without a second of hesitation, he gets his iron out of a nearby footlocker and takes off out of the tent.

“Yo, Dakota!” V yells as he steps into the large garage, his voice echoing off the expansive metal interior.

All around him is the sound of whirring tools and revving engines, needing him to shout in order to be heard above the cacophony of noise. He recognizes jackets from several major clans such as the Aldecaldos and Caledonians. Thankfully, he seems to be the only Bakker in the garage.

In the corner of the shop, he can see the raised and enclosed platform that serves as Dakota’s office. She is a woman of many titles, each corner of the badlands having some flattering and not so flattering ones to offer. Many call her the Queen of the Badlands, while others call her the Wasteland Witch. However, the one thing that every nomad can agree on is that she is the best damn Fixer outside of Night City. If you ride in the badlands and have a job that needs done or want one to do, you go to Dakota Smith.

The thin metal grating of the staircase rattles as V takes them two at a time. Finally, he arrives in the small office, finding a middle aged woman tapping away on a large tablet. Her face, illuminated by the blue light of the screen, quickly turns to look at him.

“V, it’s good to see you.” Dakota says with a warm smile. Well, as warm as she can manage, anyways. As she continues she sticks out one of her slender hands for a shake. “Hope you’ve been staying out of trouble these days… more so than when you were a kid.”

V responds with a hearty chuckle and accepts the handshake. “Course I’ve been stayin’ out of trouble. I don’t get caught nearly as much as I did when I was a little rascal.” He responds with a small nod of pride.

Dakota rolls her eyes but doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by his answer. Suddenly, her expression shifts to a much more serious one. “If you really are opposed to getting into trouble, then I would advise you to not take this job.” She warns cautiously.

“Come on now, I’m sure it’s nothing I can’t handle. Is the job dangerous or something?” V says while waving his hand dismissively, clearly eager to get to work. “Is this about that time with the cement mixer? If it is, I can promise-“

“V… this is serious.” Dakota warns, interrupting the young nomad.

“Good thing I’m serious too, then.” V responds in a more even tone, narrowing his eyes towards the fixer. “I’m taking this job, Dakota. I’m grateful for your concern and you’ve helped me through a lot of jams over the years. But now, it’s time for me to show Night City what I’m capable of. That starts here, with this job.”

Dakota studies V for several long moments, weighing the risks and benefits of handing over the information to him. Finally, after finding nothing but determination, she relents. Her arm reaches out with a small object, dropping it into his waiting palm.

Studying the object, V recognizes it as a datashard and his expression brightens. “You won’t regret it.” He promises solemnly.

Dakota sighs and leans against her desk. “For both of our sakes, I hope that you’re right.” She says wearily. “You’ll be intercepting a corpo shipment that will be crossing the border tomorrow morning.

The fixer’s name is Faraday.”