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"We really made a mess this time. There are mercenaries in Night City who have killed a Fixer before, but for a crew like ours? This is a first."
Maine was driving with one hand, his posture relaxed despite the fact that his other arm was a mangled wreck of sparks and exposed wiring. He turned to Jax, his eyes bright with a manic, post-adrenaline high. "How do you feel, kid?"
"How do I feel about what?" Jax replied. It was a crowded fit; Kiwi's head was resting on his left thigh, her breathing shallow as she fought the fever of a combat virus, while Sasha was slumped against his right shoulder, fast asleep.
Of the two netrunners, one was so sick she was seeing double, and the other had pushed her deck so hard her internal fans were still whining. Kiwi couldn't sit up; every sway of the car made her stomach churn with the metallic tang of digital nausea.
"The job, Jax! Last night," Maine chuckled. "How was it for you?"
Jax thought for a second, feeling the weight of the thermal Katana at his back and the hum of his own organic pulse. "Dangerous. But... a hell of a rush."
Jax realized then that he might have been born for this. The boiling pressure in his brain, the split-second decisions—he adapted to the violence of Night City because, deep down, he craved the friction.
Maine grinned. "That's what I like to hear! Once we hit this Viktor guy and get you some fresh chrome, I'll take you on a run that'll make last night look like a corporate board meeting!"
Jax offered a helpless smile. He knew Maine was just trying to hook him, to make sure the "natural" didn't decide to wander back to the Moxes. But Jax wasn't going anywhere yet. The system had already confirmed the kill on Kerfu, granting him 0.1 to Reflexes and Body—the exact foundation he needed to survive the big leagues.
"Pilar, stay on my tail. We're almost there," Maine called over the comms.
"I know the neighborhood, Maine! I grew up in these gutters!" Pilar's voice crackled back through the speakers.
They pulled into a narrow street in Chinatown, the neon signs flickering in the morning fog. Maine killed the engine in front of a modest storefront.
"Misty's Esoterica..." Maine squinted at the sign, his suspicion mounting. "You sure about this, Jax? This guy a Ripperdoc or a fortune teller? I don't need a paper talisman; I need a surgeon."
"Just get out of the car," Jax said, his patience thinning. He stepped out, carefully lifting Kiwi into his arms.
Sasha followed, looking like a dazed kitten. The sharp, predatory smile was gone, replaced by a groggy, innocent confusion that made her look ten years younger. She trailed Jax with unsteady steps.
"You've got to be kidding me," Rebecca muttered as she climbed out, her small face twisted. She was clutching her hand over her empty eye socket, where a few raw wires dangled like silver worms. Even for a hardened merc, the sight was gruesome.
Jax ignored the grumbling and pushed open the door. The air inside was a thick, pleasant cloud of incense and dried herbs.
"Good morning. Can I help you?"
A woman emerged from the shadows—Gothic makeup, dark clothes, and a gaze that was far too perceptive for a simple shopkeeper.
"We're here to see Viktor," Jax said.
Misty looked at the group—the shattered arms, the empty eye sockets, and the seizing netrunner in Jax's arms. She didn't flinch. "Viktor's downstairs. Follow me. You all look like you've been through a meat grinder."
She led them through the shop, her voice a gentle, magnetic hum. Maine tried to strike up a conversation, flashing a wink. "Maine's crew. Heard of us?"
Misty paused, looking at him. For a second, her expression shifted, as if she were seeing a ghost—the shadow of another big, bold man who used to fill her shop with laughter. She shook her head. "I don't keep up with Edgerunner gossip. I'm just an ordinary person."
"I'm Misty. And you are?"
"Jax," he said. He looked at her with a warmth he didn't usually show strangers. To him, Misty wasn't just an NPC; she was the heart of the city, the one who stayed when everyone else burned out.
The others introduced themselves—Dorio, the dazed Sasha, a skeptical Rebecca, and Pilar, who was currently trying to flirt with Misty while Jax blocked his path with a groan.
Misty led them through a back door and down into a cool, concrete basement. The sounds of a boxing match echoed up the stairs—the rhythmic thud of leather on skin and the roar of a digital crowd.
"Viktor! You have guests," Misty called out.
A burly man with square glasses and a blue work shirt stood up from his chair, pausing the TV. He turned around, his frame powerful and steady. His voice was a deep, calm rumble. "Thank you, Misty."
"I think you'll need the help," Misty said, already moving toward the med-supplies.
Viktor's gaze swept over the group, lingering on Kiwi. He didn't need a scan to know what was happening. "Burned her ICE, didn't she? Get her on the chair. The rest of you... one by one."
"Hold up," Maine frowned, his hand moving toward his credits. "What's the damage? You haven't even told us the price."
Viktor didn't even look up from his monitors as he began prepping a neural bridge for Kiwi. "What you need is a surgeon, not an accountant. That virus is high-grade. If I don't flush her system now, it'll eat her personality before lunch. As for the eddies... pay what you can. If you're short, you owe me. Just let me break even on the parts."
Maine stood frozen, his mouth open. In Night City, nobody worked for "pay what you can."
"Is he for real?" Maine whispered to Jax.
Jax watched as Viktor gently inserted a cooling probe into the port at the base of Kiwi's skull. He nodded.
"He's for real," Jax said softly. "He's the only conscience this city has left."
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