When I squeezed my way through the hole in the wall I had to push my backpack through first, it was so tight. Once outside and loaded back up, crutch in hand, I started limping my way back to Straight Shooters to sell my looted guns. The late afternoon sun struggled to shine through the smog, coloring it a dusky orange. With every other step, the tip of my homemade crutch made a muffled hollow thunk as it hit the stained concrete. I avoided the oil-slicked puddles and weaved with clumsy care between pedestrians — men and women distracted by vids played on optical cyberware, the images invisible to all but them.
I walked past one of the ubiquitous Speed Loans ads with the ever-present tagline, “In Your Account In Seconds” claiming you could get one with an APR as low as 31.1 percent. It was closely followed a few steps later with a commercial for Watson Whore, the reality show so graphic and extreme it was used for stress relief citywide. As I hobbled, passing by moaning and gyrating men and women, flashing and mesmerizing colors, seductive and enticing offers, it all filtered into meaningless noise that intruded and slithered into my mind unnoticed and unforgettable. It was just another stretch of dirty, trash-strewn streets, indistinguishable from any other.
I stepped into the Kabuki Roundabout and meekly moved with the crowd, dancing through the flocks drawn by stall owners yelling in Mandarin and broken English, hounded by watchful suspicious gazes. With stumbling steps steadily progressing me towards my goal, I eventually entered the air-conditioned haven of handheld death that was Straight Shooters. The same man as last time stood at the counter.
He looked at my stuffed pack, makeshift crutch, and my general state and gruffly asked, “Well, I guess the stuff you bought was put to good use, huh?”
I just nodded silently in response and took off my pack to place on the ground. With care, I pulled out the Carnage shotgun and Nue pistol and placed them on the counter.
“How much can I get for these?”
The man’s dark eyes scanned the two guns.
“Hmm… Give me a moment. I need to look them over.”
He carefully picked up each of the guns, cleared the chambers, and removed the mag from the Nue and the remaining shells from the Carnage. Then he checked the action on each as he dry-fired them. Lastly, he pulled out a small flashlight and shined it down the barrels as he looked down through them.
Once done, he placed them back on the counter and looked up at me, “They’re both in pretty bad condition, but they seem functional, so I can give you an estimate. Budget Arms is never worth much, but the Nue is much more valuable. It's a big reliable, high quality gun chambered in 10mm. Quite popular among those with a bit of augmentation or the muscles to handle the recoil… Or, those just trying to compensate for something…”
He looked up at me with a smirk and paused as though realizing something.
I didn’t get it.
He coughed awkwardly and continued, “Anyways, it's popular and I can get you probably 400 eddies for it despite its condition.”
I just nodded quietly.
As he grabbed the mag for the Nue and went to put it back in he paused. He was looking down at the ammo in it. With a whistle, he asked, “You got any more of this ammo?”
I shook my head, “What is it?”
I remembered the massive holes it made during the fight yesterday.
“10mm SafeShot. Police issue. Weird to see it in a gun this poorly taken care of.”
I cocked my head in confusion.
He noticed and explained further, “SafeShot is just GEL-Core marketed for police forces since in .45 ACP it doesn’t over penetrate. Have you heard of GEL-Core?”
I shrugged, “I’ve heard that it costs a scopload of eddies, but that's it.”
He nodded and pulled a round out of the mag. It had a blue stripe around the base.
“Well, that’s true. The Arasaka trademark and proprietary design cause that. The rounds have a highly compressed metallic gel core and a unique shell. It holds just long enough to penetrate soft targets before fragmenting. This releases the gel inside the target where it explosively expands and nearly instantly hardens. The round dumps nearly all its kinetic energy into the target and usually only barely makes it through. Both the explosive expansion of the gel and the efficient transfer of energy make it an extremely deadly round that won’t hurt anyone behind the target.”
After a brief pause, he glanced up at me then back down to the round in his hand and continued, “That’s for .45 ACP though. It’s a bigger, slower bullet and what’s almost always used. More gel and almost perfect energy transfer. 10 millimeter on the other hand is much more rare. It’s a smaller bullet that travels much faster and if you look at the tip…”
He pointed to a darker bit of metal, “That’s a super dense alloy on the tip that allows for a small degree of armor penetration. This is a round designed to deal maximum damage that's not worried about overpenetration. The kick from a 10mm is also a bit much for the average unaugmented officer. These rounds are normally used by corporate security, MaxTac, and other high-end forces.”
He gave me a searching look, “Where on earth did you find these?”
I shuffled uncomfortably and shifted my gaze away from his.
“Well, whatever’s going on you’re going to want to stay far away from the type of people who use this. It's going to be nothing but trouble. Trust me.”
I nodded and looked at the ground thinking hard.
Why the fuck did some nobody at a random worthless drug den have rare expensive ammo? And that fentapam I found was even weirder. I may need to search the place a bit carefully when I get the time.
“Alright, the shotgun is a piece of shit. It might fire alright for a couple shots, but it’s going to jam. I’m not going to be reselling it and I’m not sure if I’m even going to use it for parts. I can give you 20 eddies for it since there are a couple usable parts I might be able to reuse.”
I would’ve grimaced if I could.
“The Nue just has some rust and a couple dents. With a bit of cleaning and some oil, it’ll be in perfect working order. So, yeah, I can give you 400 for it.”
It wasn’t as much as I’d been hoping for, but it should be enough for my eye. I could try selling the beat-up Nova in my jacket pocket but it was almost as worthless as the Carnage. It also made a pretty good hammer.
“How about the SafeShot ammo? Can I get anything for that?”
He gave a small shake of his head and a little wry smile, “If you had a box of it sure, but all you’ve got is half a magazine.”
He looked me up and down again and after a moment sighed, “I can give you five eddies for them. Here you go, 425 eddies.”
I gave a small nod of thanks as he handed me the small stack of worn cloth-like bills. The synthetic material of the bills was damage-resistant, but had, nevertheless, been inexorably eroded by thousands of hands over the years.
I stuffed the bills into my pocket and moved to leave the shop as quickly as I could. If anyone found out that, with what I’d just gotten, I had over half a grand in my pocket, things would not end well for me. As I left, the man, whose name I still hadn’t gotten, said, “Hey kid, if you're going to get chipped, go to Viktor. Trust me. He’s a good ripper and you’ll actually wake back up if you go under his knife.”
I paused for a moment and nodded without looking back before stepping back out into the crowds.
I’d been thinking of saving some money and going to one of the cheaper Ripperdocs. Having something left over would’ve been nice. My stomach grumbled. Money for decent food was always appreciated, but the guy had been right. The cheap docs with a bad rep would be willing to take the chance that no one would notice me disappearing. The more expensive places wouldn’t risk damaging their rep for so little. I didn’t know much about Viktor, just that he worked out of Little China behind some sort of weird new-age shop and that he had the respect of the older generation. He wasn’t the cheapest around, but I should just be able to pay his prices.
Fuck it. Viktor it is.
As I limped my way out of Kabuki and into Little China things started to get a bit hazy. My head throbbed with every heartbeat. My stomach gnawed at itself, a hollow, twisting pain. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. My limbs felt like lead. I staggered into an out-of-the-way alley and carefully slid down the cold steel wall onto a stretch of ground with a minimum of human effluvia. Hidden by refuse and the shadows of the afternoon sun I closed my eyes and rested my head back against my pack.
I just need to rest for a little bit. I’ll get moving in a few minutes… Just a few minutes…
I woke up to the screeching honk of a cheap car racing past and the yelling of pedestrians. Startled, I reached for the Nova in my pocket and once I had it in hand I paused and let my mind catch up. Soon, the yelling calmed down and everything returned to the familiar chaotic susurrous of Night City sounds.
The sunlight had nearly disappeared and artificial lights had started flicking on to illuminate the city in illustrious neon glory and glitter. Harsh shadows hid the gritty and distasteful and highlighted the glamorous nightlife the city was known for. The time to revel in duplicitous elicit activities and for hounds to hunt for prey was fast approaching.
I staggered upright. The ‘Dorph was fading again. With every hit, it felt like I needed more just for the high to last as long as the one before it.
I’m not too far from Viktor. Just 20 minutes and I should be there. The high should last long enough.
With a groan, I got back to limping towards my destination.
By the time I entered Misty’s Esoterica night had fully fallen and the pain was truly starting to become unbearable again. As a gentle bell rang at my entry, a young woman with dirty blond hair down to her ears, heavy eye makeup, and black lipstick looked up from where she sat at the front counter shuffling a deck of tarot cards. Her eyes widened as she stood.
“Oh, you poor thing! Are you here for Viktor?”
I paused at the actual care in her voice. That tone wasn’t something I had heard in a long, long time. It hurt to hear. It made me want to cry — to break down and just let someone hold me.
No. No. Sweet words, but nothing more. People don’t just care.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
My hackles rose. I’d seen other kids taken in by honeyed words and a compassionate ear before, only to be found in a dumpster behind an XBD studio a week later, mutilated and violated.
With a guarded tone I answered, “Yes, I am. He’s behind the shop right?”
At my tone, her eyes showed an understanding melancholy sadness. “He is. Out the back and down the stairs.”
Without responding I limped past her as she said softly, “If at any point your heart has opened enough to share, I will be here to listen. Pain need not be born alone.”
I heard her but didn’t respond.
A cat by the stairs meowed plaintively at me as passed. I limped carefully down the concrete stairs into a dark basement. As I made my way down and opened a metal grate I could hear an announcer’s voice and the sounds of fists hitting flesh filtered through cheap tv speakers. A man’s voice called out in disgusted response to the crowd’s roar from the TV, “Come on! Keep your hands up and lead with the jab! Just because you have gorilla arms and an armored skull doesn’t mean you can forget technique!”
At the sound of the grate opening the man turned from the TV to look at me. As the man, Viktor I could only assume, looked away to turn down the volume on the TV I took a quick scan of the place. The room wasn’t fancy with a bunch of shiny chrome counters and corporate logos, but it was clean and the equipment looked well used and cared for. In an open part of the room sat a reclining medical chair illuminated by bright overhead lights.
As he turned back to look at me, his large frame was backlit by a hot pink neon Spunky Monkey sign while the silenced TV cast flickering light on his weathered face, reflecting off his dark square-lensed sunglasses.
His shaded eyes looked me over and his mouth twisted in a grimace, “Shit kid. What happened to you?”
“Guy was angry and wanted to teach me a lesson.”
After a moment’s pause, with a heavy sigh, he leaned forward putting his elbows on his knees, and dragged his hand down over his face.
“Look kid, I can’t do charity work. I’d like to, but then I’d have people coming in day and night and running me out of business. So, unless you can pay, the most I can do for you is send you back up to Misty for a kind ear to hear your troubles.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a bit over half a grand in wrinkled bills. As I held them out I said, “I have eddies, and I a bit of chrome in my pack waiting to be chipped.”
With raised eyebrows, he nodded and gestured over to the illuminated chair, “Well alright then. Go take a seat and pull out that chrome. And while you’re doing that tell me what happened in a bit more detail. Also, what’s your name?”
I made my way painfully over to the chair and put down my pack to pull out the two optics. Leaving them unwrapped, sitting on top of my pack, I gingerly climbed up onto the chair and started talking in a flat tone.
“I’m Niko. He punched me in the gut. Then he kicked me in the side while I was on the ground. I think something cracked. Then he stomped on my ankle while I was laying on the ground. It was crushed bad. Last he cut me with a knife through my eye and down my face.”
While I talked Viktor was watching me move and using a hand tool to adjust some sort of mechanical apparatus that covered one of his hands. It attached at the wrist with articulating metal limbs following the top of the index and middle fingers and out a couple inches past their tips. The ends of the delicate limbs moved in a dance as he adjusted the device, graspers opening and closing, tool-like attachments spinning smoothly.
“When did this happen? And what have you taken to deal with it? You’re not moving like you have a broken rib.”
“I was hurt the day before yesterday. I’ve taken a hit from a MaxDoc every day. Three so far. And I’ve been taking ‘Dorph to deal with the pain.”
Viktor paused his work and looked at me seriously, “Niko, how much ‘Dorph have you taken and when was your last hit?”
“Last hit was a bit after noon. I think I’ve taken about two to two and a half full hits over the past couple days. I’ve been trying to take half doses.”
He looked at the crusted blood splattered all over me.
“How much of that blood is yours?”
I paused for a moment, “I don’t think any of it is. I threw away the shirt I was wearing when I was cut.”
He gave me a searching look, “You know that ‘Dorph doesn’t just take away the pain and make you high right? It dampens empathy, reduces inhibitions, and numbs all negative feelings… Including guilt and remorse. It reinforces behavior taken while high, building habits and reactions.”
Uhh… What? That’s a lot of fancy words. I know taking ‘Dorph fucks people up and is bad for you, but I needed it. Why is he telling me this?
He must have seen that I didn’t understand, “It makes it easier to hurt people. It can make it feel good. If you hurt people when high, it makes it easier to hurt people again in the future even if you’re not high.”
I thought back over the last couple of days and how I’d felt during and after my first two kills.
I remembered the cold metal was heavy in my hands and the rain had soaked my clothes making them stick to my skin. Every three-round burst made my iron jump in my small hands, only just large enough to keep hold of it. The bodies were heavy and the blood and shit left behind stank. I was focused, tired, and wired. There was a bit of a thrill when I pulled the trigger, but that was all.
It felt easy… I guess that was the ‘Dorph? But is that bad? From how he’s saying it, he thinks it is. I mean, sure? But, hurting people seems to be working for me pretty good.
I nodded in understanding, but tilted my head and looked at him with a bit of confusion in my eye, “Umm… Sure, but so what?”
I shrugged and continued, “Why is that bad? Everyone hurts each other. So what if it's easier to hurt people in the future? Hurting other people is why I’m able to pay you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment in tired resignation, “Alright kid, never mind. Just never mind.”
With brisk professionalism, he continued, “If you’ve been taking hits of MaxDoc, you shouldn’t need to worry about infection, but it can cause bones to heal wrong. Also, with all the ‘Dorph you’ve been taking, and I assume fighting you’ve been doing…”
He paused for a moment and looked at me for confirmation. I nodded.
“You’ve probably been causing a lot of damage without realizing it, making your injuries worse. Lay down and let me take a look at you, then I’ll check out those optics you brought.”
He picked up the optics resting on my bag and placed them on a rolling tray before moving my bag out of the way. With sure movements, he pulled a small piece of machinery attached to a rolling stand over to the chair and passed it slowly down over my body. After looking over the display on the back of the device for a moment he frowned.
“The eye is a total wash. It’ll have to be removed. The rest of your face I can heal up the rest of the way today for about 50 eddies, but the cut was so deep it even gouged your cheek and jaw bones. Without some pretty serious reconstruction, you’re going to have some minor paralysis on that side and quite the scar. I can of course fix all of that, but it would cost around 300 eddies.
I can see two ribs that have recently healed. They didn’t heal perfect, but shouldn’t cause any major issues. No major organ damage beyond the normal consequences of poor nutrition.”
After that, he paused and looked up from the screen to meet my eyes, “Your ankle is really bad. And I mean really bad. It looks like you had multiple fractures and severe ligament damage from the original injury. Your continued activity while on painkillers made the bone displacement even worse, further tore the ligaments, and ground down the cartilage. But really, the biggest problem has been caused by the MaxDoc constantly trying to heal it. You’ve got severe malunion of the bones with bone spurs and extra callus formation. The talus bone was partially displaced and the bones around it broke and rehealed at a bad angle. Multiple ligaments now have permanent scarring, severely shortening them.”
He paused for a moment before continuing, “That was a lot of big words, but the point is that your ankle is fucked. Without ten plus grand of work, your ganic ankle will never work right again. You’re going to have weakness, a limp, and chronic pain.”
I blinked my one good eye, taking that in.
“Normally, I don’t recommend children getting too much chrome. Especially full or partial limb replacements. But, if you want to walk without a limp again, getting a lower leg replacement is the cheapest short-term option. You’ll need to get it replaced every six months to a year as you grow and you may develop a slight limp every time you start to outgrow it, but you’ll be able to walk and run without pain.”
I took a shuddering breath and asked, “How much?”
“For the cheapest version, 1200 eddies.”
That’s a lot. More than I have. I could get cheaper from Fingers or Doc. But they’d happily sell me to scavs for the right price. And who knows if they’d chip me with some junk chrome or fuck up the surgery. Also, Viktor hasn’t looked at the chrome I brought.
“Okay, can you look at the optics and tell me what they’re worth?”
He nodded and moved over to the tray he’d left them on. As he carefully looked them over and placed them in a blocky machine that beeped and whirred, I thought things over.
I didn’t think I’d fucked it up that bad. I thought it was just a broken ankle. Other kids get stuff like that fixed up all the time for almost nothing… I guess I get it though. They don’t run around on it for days after getting hurt… Well, shit.
Viktor grunted, breaking me out of my introspection.
“Well, they’re used and not in perfect condition, but should still work alright. They’re not a high-end model. The Zetatech ClearSight™ optics are marketed as… let me see here…”
He looked down at a datapad and said in a slightly sarcastic tone, “An honest optic for Americans that deserve ClearSight™.”
With a snort, he continued, “What they really are, is cheap. They work, but not very well. The HUD is as simple as they get. No magnification and the resolution is pretty poor. New, the pair would be worth maybe 1800. Used, 1200 would be generous.”
If I could get one implanted and trade him the other, I would almost have enough for the lower leg replacement. I could probably haggle for the difference and I had more cyberware waiting for me to remove back at the hotel.
“Can I trade you one and have you implant the other?”
He shook his head, “Sorry kid, these are made for adults—they wouldn’t fit you. And that price? That was for a pair. A lone optic is worth way less than half.”
I closed my eye and took another deep breath.
“Okay, can I trade them to you for chrome that will fit me?”
He nodded and fiddled with the datapad in his hand, “No problem. I’ll give you the trade-in price of 1200 eddies. Here, I’ve pulled up all the optics and limb replacements that will fit you. I’ve marked what I have in stock and what I’d need to order.”
He passed me the datapad and I started to scroll through the options. The pain was making it hard to think, but I did my best to focus. Many of the options would expand or extend to one degree or another as the user grew. There were a staggering number of models, but almost all of them were obscenely expensive and would need to be ordered. The number of options that he had in stock was very short and there was only one optic and limb replacement that was in my price range. They were both made by the same manufacturer and part of the same line of products, Moore Technologies Promise™ cybernetics. In the description, it said, “The growing mind needs cyberware that grows with it. Our Promise™ line of cyberware ensures that your child has exactly that.”
Both the optic and the limb replacement claimed to be able to grow to accommodate a full year of growth. There was a lot of other technical information that sounded really impressive, but I couldn’t understand most of it. And really, what mattered most was that I would be able to afford either the leg or the optic and possibly both. The limb replacement cost 1200, matching what he was giving me for the ClearSight optics. While a pair of Promise optics would cost 800.
“Hey Doc, how much for just one Promise optic? I can only see the price for two.”
“Hmm? Oh, let me see.”
He reached out for the datapad and took a look.
“I can let you have it for 600. Really, most people are looking for a pair, so having a spare lying around isn’t really that useful. Even if it’s to replace an injured eye, most will just choose to replace both. The difference in visual quality between the two eyes can cause some disorientation until you can get used to it and it doesn’t cost much more.”
I nodded. I’d replace both if I could afford it.
“I have 500 and 43 eddies and I can get you another pair of optics in less than a day. If you chip me with a full set of optics and the leg for what I have on me, I’ll sell you the next pair for half price.”
He gave me a look that was both considering and surprised. After a moment he responded, “That's a nice deal if I could trust you to come back. How about this; I’ll chip you with both the leg and the one optic for what you have on you, but I’ll hold onto the spare for a week. If you come back with another pair of optics I’ll chip the second one for free and buy the optics you bring for half price. Sound good?”
I nodded in agreement and held out the cash.
He took the money and put it in his breast pocket. With a push, he rode his rolling stool out of sight. After a moment he came back holding a small domed plastic mask. As he began screwing a canister into a valve on the side of it he asked, “Alright, I’m going to put you under. When you wake up in a few hours you will be able to walk out of here without that crutch and see out that left eye again. Any last questions?”
I shook my head. At that signal, he placed the mask over my face covering my nose and mouth before pressing something that caused the canister to hiss as it released its payload.
“Just breathe deeply… Yep, just like that… And you should start feeling real tired… Just about…”