"Damn, Old De, why'd you drop me off at the Afterlife?"
V finally complained after realizing where she was. But since she was already here—and it was 2076—Jackie should still be alive.
Her heart tightened. Returning to the place she once knew, she felt a strange mix of longing and dread.
But when she steadied herself and prepared to see her "deceased" choom again, she found the doors of the Afterlife shut tight.
This had never happened in her memory. Even during Jackie's funeral, the Afterlife remained open as usual.
Something more important than Jackie's funeral? That didn't sound right.
Feeling slightly disappointed, V rolled down the car window and asked two Valentinos punks hanging by the door, "Why's the Afterlife closed?"
"Who the hell are you? Think I gotta answer just 'cause you ask? Screw off, you corpo bitch!"
The punk's reply was very polite—in Night City terms, anyway. "Screw corpos" was a sacred rule among all gangs, and judging by their tattoos, they were Valentinos. The fact they didn't immediately pull a gun on her meant their manners were excellent.
V didn't get angry. She simply transferred them €250.
Sure, "screw the corpos" was a rule, but rules meant nothing when money entered the chat.
Besides, the slogan was only for show—used to win over the desperate and the naive, to recruit more bodies for their dirty work. In reality, which gang in Night City didn't have corporate ties? The Tyger Claws had Arasaka behind them, the 6th Street Gang got backing from Militech, the Animals had ties with NetWatch, and Maelstrom lunatics worked for anyone with eddies—or robbed anyone with eddies. Even the Scavs, those organ-harvesting psychos, had shady connections with Biotechnica.
Those gang bosses, worshipped by their clueless street-level punks as noble rebels fighting against corporate tyranny, were nothing more than corp-owned mutts. Publicly righteous, privately groveling.
Under this façade, the slogan "screw the corpos" was just a glittery soap bubble—pretty, pointless, and popped with a touch.
"El Coyote Cojo's owner's kid got shot. The family's at Santiago's ripperdoc clinic. Nobody's running the bar, so it's closed."
See? Money talks. Once eddies changed hands, the punk instantly transformed—answering the question, even showing respect.
It's hard to talk ideals when starving.
"Address," V said.
"Heywood. Wellsprings. Water pumping station."
"Old De."
"Understood. Now heading to Santiago's clinic."
The car pulled away as the two Valentinos started bickering.
"How could you bow to a corpo dog?!"
"She paid us! Two-fifty!"
"You dumbass. We should've smoked her and taken her shard. The money would be ours!"
"…Damn. You're right!"
They exchanged a look. One pulled out a gold-plated Lexington, the other a Laika revolver painted with saints, and opened fire at the Delamain's rear.
"Kill the corpo dogs!"
"Fuck the corps! Fuck the system!"
Bullets pinged against the armored chassis, sparking lightly—it sounded almost like rain on pavement. Surprisingly pleasant.
Heh. Once fed, ideals magically reappear.
"Miss V," Delamain reported. "Vehicle is under fire. Engage combat mode?"
"No need. I like the sound."
Gunfire was the romance of Night City. V poured herself some tequila from the minibar and listened to the bullets, as if savoring a symphony.
"That's why meaningless rebellion is pointless. You gotta let people know rebellion gets them booze, meat, and women. Then it becomes real rebellion. Johnny, got that?"
No answer.
Right—Johnny wasn't here.
"Oh screw it. Not like I care."
Delamain drove as smoothly as always, delivering V to Santiago's ripperdoc clinic in Wellsprings within ten minutes.
V entered the clinic, a razor-thin blade between her fingers.
Not for fighting—if attacked, she could cut her skin to trigger her Trauma Team Platinum response. As a platinum client, even losing a single hair would bring armed medics rushing in with shotguns and AMRs.
With her combat abilities crippled, this was one of her few remaining lifelines.
Of course, attacking someone inside a ripperdoc clinic was rare. Even Maelstrom psychos avoided pissing off ripperdocs—you never knew when you'd end up on their table, hoping they kept you alive.
Sure enough, the clinic was quiet, save the steady beeping of medical machinery. A huge man lay on a surgical bed, tubes everywhere.
It was Jackie Welles—the man who once stormed Konpeki Plaza with her, then died in a cab.
Jackie, the real legend.
Memories washed over her. V's Kiroshi optics wavered—probably just leaking oil.
She clicked her tongue and smiled. "Jackie, you're a mess. Someone really did you dirty."
Jackie was pale but conscious. He stared at her in confusion and forced out, "Who… the hell are you?"
V froze. She pointed at her own face. "You don't recognize me?"
"I don't… know any… corpo bitch."
"That's impossible!" V said loudly. "We've been chooms for years! You even saved my life!"
"Lady…" Jackie rasped. "I got shot… I'm dyin'… but they shot my gut, not my head… maybe you should lie down on this bed instead?"
Jackie didn't know her.
What the hell?
Stunned, V stepped forward to question him again—when a voice spoke from the shadows.
"Hey now. Show some respect to my patient."
A massive man emerged, even bulkier than Jackie—but interestingly, he had almost no cyberware. He looked strangely out of place in Night City.
V could tell Jackie was in critical condition—near death. She swallowed her confusion and turned to the man.
"He's your patient? You're Santiago?"
"That's right," he said with a nod. "My clinic."
"A ripperdoc with no implants?"
Santiago shrugged fearlessly. "One day the Blackwall will fall. When that happens, everyone with chrome dies. Except me."
"AI doesn't just fry brains. Maybe your coffee machine will kill you."
"Impossible. I don't drink coffee. Don't even own a machine."
V wasn't in the mood for jokes. "Why aren't you treating Jackie?"
"Money," Santiago said bluntly. "Kid's liver got blown apart. Needs a full synthetic liver replacement. You know how expensive those are. Mrs. Welles is out trying to gather cash. I'm waiting—see who gets here first: his mom or the Reaper."
"That's it?"
V scoffed. "How much? I'll pay."
Santiago blinked. "It's not a small number."
Before he finished, V transferred €$50,000.
"That enough?"
"More than enough!" His attitude flipped instantly. He even brought her a stool. "Way more, actually."
"Use the extra to patch him up. Upgrade some chrome. Add some nutrient packs."
"Will do!" Santiago said eagerly, putting on gloves.
Jackie gave V a conflicted look. "Who… are you?"
"You really don't know me?"
He shook his head.
The disappointment flashed across V's face. "Sorry. Mistaken identity."
Jackie swallowed. "You're still… payin' for me?"
V laughed. "Sure. Meeting is fate. I'll cover it."
She slapped Santiago's shoulder. "Swap the liver, then give him a new Mr. Stud—latest model!"
"On it!" Santiago grinned, giving a thumbs-up.
Jackie turned green. "No no no—my original Stud hasn't even seen action yet!"
Santiago approached with a sedative. Jackie tried to plead with V—but she was already gone.
A scream echoed through the clinic.
V got back into the Delamain.
"Welcome back, Miss V. Please enter your destination."
V hesitated, then asked, "Old De… if someone goes back to the past, but it's not the past they know—what does that mean?"
Normally Delamain wouldn't answer such things, but V was a "Premium Tier: Excellence" user. Conversation was part of the package.
"Based on your description," Delamain replied, "there is a sixty-four percent probability you are referring to a parallel timeline."
"Parallel timeline, huh…" V nodded. "Guess that's the only explanation."
"However," Delamain added, "memory failure cannot be ruled out. More test samples are needed for an accurate conclusion."
"True." V tapped the seat. "Old De, take me to Viktor's Clinic."
"Destination updated. Estimated time: fourteen minutes, fifty-six seconds."
From Wellsprings northward, across the Corporate Plaza in City Center, over the bridge into Watson's Little China, down Bradbury Street—Viktor Vector's clinic sat below street level.
Again holding the blade, V entered the clinic.
"Hey, Vik."
Her emotions twisted as she saw the man in the blue shirt.
If anyone in Night City treated her the best, it was Viktor. Without his help early on, she might've died nameless in a dumpster.
But Viktor simply looked at her with confusion.
Short hair, sharp jawline, eyes filled with experience—and a strong scent of "corpo" all over her.
Vik didn't like corpos, but he didn't hate them either. At his age, he knew people needed to eat. If you didn't eat from one bowl, you ate from another. Usually he kept his distance, but he wouldn't turn down business.
People needed to survive.
So he put on his professional smile. "Welcome. Miss, what can I do for you?"
V felt bitterness rise in her throat. Just like a Relic malfunction.
"You… don't recognize me?"
"Should I? Have we met?"
V gave a hollow laugh and sat on the medical chair. "Give me a full diagnostics."
"Alright."
A ripperdoc's first rule: never ask unnecessary questions. Vik connected a cable into the neural socket behind V's ear and started the scan.
He whistled. "Damn. This chrome setup is insane. Biomonitor, blood pump, subdermal heart, tendon enhancers, adrenal regulators, reflex co-processors, pain editors, pain transposers, cell adaptors, electro-dart launcher system… You're basically a one-woman army! And your OS—holy shit, a Militech Berserk Mk.5? I thought the Mk.4 was still in development. This a prototype? How'd you get it?"
V smiled wordlessly.
As the diagnostics continued, Vik frowned.
"What happened to your neural center? Looks like it got nuked by a meteor. With damage like this, it's a miracle you're alive. No wonder your chrome is locked down."
Even in a parallel world, Vik was still Vik—sharp as ever.
"Can you unlock my cyberware?" V asked.
"Absolutely not." Vik shook his head. "Unlock anything and your shredded nervous system will fry instantly. Also… whoever locked your chrome knew what they were doing. I can't crack it."
"Anyone in Night City who can?"
"Yeah. The corporations."
"Mm." V shrugged.
"But more importantly," Vik continued, "you need your nervous system repaired. Without that, unlocking chrome is suicide."
"Mm." She shrugged again. "Any leads on fixing nerves?"
"The human nervous system isn't a circuit board. A street ripper like me can't handle that." Vik thought a moment. "You could try Biotechnica. But your case is so extreme that one corp won't be enough. You'll need multiple megacorps working together. And that… costs a lot."
"Twenty million enough?"
Vik's eyes flickered. "For the first round, sure."
He was still the same soft-hearted Vik. Even toward a stranger, he offered hope.
V pulled out the cable, hopped off the table, and transferred €20,000.
Vik blinked. "That's… too much."
"Opening fee. Old habit."
"…What?"
"You work well. Consider it a tip."
V headed out. Vik called after her.
"Hey, miss…"
Seeing the worry on his face, V smiled.
"Relax, Vik. No matter how rough the road gets, I won't go down."
She waved and hummed as she left.
Vik watched her go and murmured:
"Night City hasn't seen someone that strong in a long time."