Cyberpunk: 2075

"You guys pulled off a big job this time?"

Inside Viktor's ripperdoc clinic, the man casually tossed the question out as he patched up Jackie's wounds.

"You could say that. Corpo job. Almost got our asses handed to us."

Jackie shrugged. "After selling off the gear, all the scraps, I walked away with about 40,000. Maelstrom gear doesn't sell for shit, but we kept a Crusher shotgun."

"Bringing your ass back in one piece is what matters."

Viktor pressed a staple-gun-like device to Jackie's arm.

Click.

With one swift press, the wound was sealed shut.

Stepping back, Viktor gave Jackie a solid pat on the arm before heading back to his chair.

"All patched up. Before you head out, grab some airhypo injectors. Next time, jam one into yourself before shit hits the fan—it'll help a lot."

"How much, Vik?"

Jackie reached for his credchip.

"Consider it a celebration for your big job. This one's on the house."

Waving them off, Vik leaned back, eyes already flicking toward the boxing match playing on his screen.

"Just keep bringing me business."

Ding.

The fight on screen resumed.

"Thanks, Vik. I'll bring some drinks next time—we'll knock back a few."

Jackie rolled his shoulder, feeling it move freely again.

Satisfied, he turned to Carl and Oliver.

"Alright, let's celebrate. Job's done."

"Any place in mind?" Oliver asked. "Not too familiar with Watson."

"There's a solid izakaya over in Kabuki. What do you think?"

Jackie turned toward Carl, waiting for his opinion.

"Japanese food, huh?"

Carl paused, but eventually nodded.

"Been a while. Could be worth checking out. But isn't Kabuki just a den for hustlers and con artists? Didn't expect a good restaurant there."

"People still gotta eat after a long night of scamming and partying, choom."

Jackie grinned. "Trust me, the place is legit. Not that I've had 'authentic' Japanese food before, but it's damn good."

Sold.

With Jackie hyping up the place, the three of them hopped into Oliver's car and started heading toward Kabuki Market.

On the way, they talked about how they'd spend their 40,000 eddies.

40,000 eds was a lot in Night City.

Enough to surpass 90% of the population's total assets.

Even among mercs, very few could save up this much.

Most edge-runners lived gig to gig, blowing their pay almost immediately.

And even if someone did save, hitting five figures was rare.

Hell, half the low-tier mercs barely had better gear than a random Maelstrom goon.

Jackie was the first to share his plan:

"I'm setting aside 10k for a ride—either a car or a bike. The rest? I'm going to Vik's for some subdermal armor."

He paused, tapping the dash.

"That psycho Maelstromer we fought today? Even a Saratoga couldn't punch through her armor. Once I get a set of my own, I'll be a damn tank."

There was another reason Jackie was paying out of pocket for brand-new cyberware instead of salvaging the Maelstromer's corpse.

One—

Jackie prided himself on his Mexican roots.

And while Mexicans might joke about death, they still respected it.

Stripping a corpse for parts?

Not Jackie's style.

That was scavenger work.

And he fucking hated scavengers.

Two—

Cyberware taken from other people's bodies had already been tweaked by ripperdocs.

Second-hand implants were hard to match with a new body.

Even if they did fit, they often caused malfunctions.

Worst case?

They triggered Cyberpsychosis—a condition where a person's mind rejected the foreign feeling of cyberware, spiraling into madness and extreme violence.

Even NCPD didn't handle cyberpsychos.

In Night City, special psychosquads were in charge of taking them down.

Jackie wasn't about to risk his sanity just to save a few eddies.

Oliver, curious about Jackie's car fund, asked:

"A second-hand junker costs, like, 10k, right? What kind of car you looking for?"

"Something with at least four seats."

Jackie grumbled, shifting uncomfortably in the tight passenger seat with Carl.

"Anything's gotta be better than your cramped-ass ride."

"Tch, my car's meant for picking up chicks, not stuffing two full-grown gonk-ass mercs in the front seat."

Oliver shot back.

"And for the record, even second-hand, this baby's worth 29,000 eds."

Jackie scoffed.

"Picking up chicks? In a Nomad cargo hauler?"

"Santo Domingo girls are practical."

"Yeah, sure. Like I haven't seen Santo girls before."

Jackie snorted.

"Your neighborhood's right on the edge of the Badlands. Constant dust storms, rough skin, but somehow they still got 'high standards.' Nah, Haywood girls? Now that's where it's at. Hot, passionate, and real."

"Real? You mean easy. You say two words to a Haywood girl, and she's already hopping in your car."

"Alright, knock it off, you two."

Carl sighed, stuck in the middle of their pointless debate.

The two were pressing against him so much that he felt like he was getting squeezed into a flatbread.

Time to shift the conversation.

"Anyway—Oliver, what about you? What's your plan for the eddies?"

Oliver paused, thinking.

"First thing? Gotta rent an apartment. Sleeping in the car or bouncing between motels sucks."

He glanced at Jackie.

"Then, I'll need some cyberware. No way I'm surviving as a merc without at least something."

"You still thinking about becoming our team's medic or a sniper?"

Carl asked.

"Yeah. I'll check out my options and see what fits."

He turned back to Jackie.

"I'm thinking of staying in Watson. Any good spots?"

"Super high-rises in Little China.

"Decent rent, and there's cheap food everywhere."

Oliver nodded.

"Oh yeah. That's where I first ran into Carl."

Glancing over at Carl, he asked:

"What about you? Got a plan?"

He remembered Carl didn't have a permanent place either.

Carl shrugged.

"Might check out that spot, too. If it works, I'll move in. Closer's better."

"And your leftover eddies?"

"Haven't decided yet. But I'll definitely buy a new handgun. Lexington's gotta go."

With banter filling the car, the three followed the nav directions—

And finally arrived at their destination.