Cyberpunk: 2075

"Surgery's done. Alright, get up. The anesthetic will last a bit longer, but don't make any sudden movements."

Hearing Viktor's words, Carl reached for his spine, slowly sitting up on the edge of the operating table.

"How are you feeling?"

Oliver, who had been silently watching the procedure for hours to avoid disturbing Viktor, finally spoke up. Unable to hold back his curiosity, he leaned in excitedly. "Took me a long time to get used to mine back then."

"I'd say… it's more manageable than I expected."

As Carl spoke, he realized that with just a thought, he could now attempt to connect to various corporate local networks.

"I removed the tracking and backend access that came with the commercial version," Viktor added. "This interface only gives you basic connectivity. If you want better processing power or to do anything more technical, you'll need upgrades. But don't get too reckless—mess around too much, and you might get hacked. You don't want some netrunner taking control of your own body."

Viktor stretched his fingers, shaking off the numbness in his hands from the prolonged operation. Unlike other ripperdocs who relied on fully mechanical limbs, Viktor still used his real arms for surgery. Hours of work had left them sore.

"You should set up a private account now. Any money you make can go directly there. Unless someone manages to take you out or crack into your OS with a netrunner attack, your eddies will be safe."

Viktor glanced at the bloodstained cash on his desk. "If you're planning to get more upgrades in the future, use online payments. This kind of money isn't easy to clean."

Hearing that, Carl suddenly imagined some gang boss complaining about how "this money's hard to launder."

Viktor's appearance was deceptive. Just looking at him, no one would suspect that this middle-aged man—with his rugged yet sharp features, a face that practically screamed he had a hell of a story—was actually one of the best ripperdocs in Night City.

"I'll keep that in mind. But wait… so, taking someone out means I can access their private account?"

"If they're dead, yeah," Oliver chimed in. "Once someone's gone, you can hack into their OS and drain their account."

"If you had this interface earlier, we could've easily paid full price without an issue."

"Noted for next time."

Carl walked over to the bag where he had stored the guns before the surgery. Opening it up, he pulled out Oliver's revolver and tossed it back to him.

Oliver caught it happily, grinning.

"Oh, my dear Nova—you're back! So, does this mean we're heading out for work, KK?"

[Darra Polytechnic DR-5 Nova]: A traditional revolver. Easy to break, easy to fix. Everybody needs one.

"When you're broke, you gotta work."

Carl stuffed the extra 200 eddies Viktor handed him into his pocket and picked up his bag. "Gotta stop by a gun shop, sell off this stuff for cheap, and grab some ammo."

"You guys heading out for work already?"

Viktor, who had just sat back down in front of his computer to continue watching the boxing match, slid his chair around to face them again.

"Neither of you have any cyberware for protection. If you're going out, make sure you grab some body armor from the gun store. Won't stop high-caliber rounds, but sometimes a little luck is all you need to stay alive."

"Body armor, huh? Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

Carl recalled that, before coming to this world, body armor was restricted in his version of America. But in Cyberpunk's world, things were different. He nodded in appreciation of Viktor's advice.

"No need to thank me. Honestly, someone as polite as you is a rare thing in Night City. The city could use more like you."

Viktor turned back to his screen, and the sounds of the boxing match resumed.

Carl and Oliver left the ripperdoc clinic, with Carl pulling the metal folding door shut on their way out.

Viktor was definitely a good guy. There weren't many people in this city who would willingly offer a discount, let alone a ripperdoc. If they ever needed more cyberware or repairs, this was the place to go.

In Night City, gun stores were even more common than convenience stores. Everyone needed a gun.

It didn't take long for Carl and Oliver to find a weapons shop just a few steps from Viktor's clinic.

The bag full of guns didn't fetch much—just 2,500 eddies. Definitely a lowball offer, but since the haul had basically been free, Carl didn't mind. Besides, the shop owner threw in a few boxes of ammo and a free holster.

As Carl finalized the transaction, the balance in his newly created private account updated.

A strange feeling.

His first digital payment in this world.

Beep.

As Oliver waited, he suddenly noticed 1,250 eddies had been transferred into his account.

Seeing the amount, he immediately turned to Carl.

"We split everything fifty-fifty."

Carl tucked his Lexington into the free holster the shopkeeper had given him. Before Oliver could even think about rejecting the money, Carl spoke first.

"If we're working together, splitting fifty-fifty is only fair. If you're worried about keeping things balanced, we can adjust when we start making bigger scores."

His meaning was clear—right now, they were just rookie mercs, no need to overcomplicate things. Once they started taking on bigger jobs, they could divide earnings based on contribution.

"No, it's not that…"

Oliver shook his head.

"This is just the first time I've actually earned my own money."

A nostalgic look crossed his face.

"I've always lived off my dad and sister. I barely lasted a week in the 6th Street Gang before getting kicked out… This is the first time I've ever made money for myself."

"Sounds like you had a decent life before this."

For a guy raised on the streets, Oliver had never even needed to hustle for petty cash. His father and sister had clearly protected him well.

Carl tossed him a share of the ammo before glancing at the gloomy sky outside.

"So… how do we find work now?"

"Middlemen?"

[Fixers]: The intermediaries between edgerunners and clients. While they take a cut of the pay, they also handle most of the logistics and red tape. In today's world, fixers are an essential part of any merc's career.

Carl recalled what he knew about fixers. Oliver's suggestion made sense.

A merc trying to take jobs on their own, with no connections or understanding of the city's politics? They'd probably get screwed over before even seeing a single eddie.

Getting a fixer was definitely the smarter move.

But first—

"Do you know any fixers?"

"I never planned on becoming a merc, and I'm not famous. Of course I don't."

"Right…"

Carl and Oliver exchanged looks.

Find work? Talk to a fixer.

No fixers? Need work to get their attention.

No work? Need a fixer to get jobs.

Deadlock.

On their very first day as a mercenary duo, Carl and Oliver had already hit a wall.

No fixer. No jobs. No clue where to start.