chapter 19

Advanced chapter's available in patreon

"Did you land a big job this time?"

In Luo's prosthetic clinic, Luo asked casually while treating Jack's wounds.

"That's right. I nearly lost my life out there on the company's mission," Jack replied. "We sold the guns and other stuff. Each of us got about 40,000 eddies after everything was split up. The Maelstrom Gang couldn't sell the Crusher shotgun at a decent price, so we decided to keep it."

"You're lucky you made it back alive," Luo said, pulling out a bucket of suturing tools. He pressed the device onto Jack's hand, and with a click, the wound was sealed. After finishing the final touches, Luo patted Jack's intact arm, stepped back, and sat down in his chair. "All done. Take some pneumatic syringes with you on your way out. Next time you find yourself in trouble like this, injecting yourself first will make things a lot easier."

"How much for the treatment and the syringes?" Jack asked.

"Consider it a celebration for completing a big job—this one's on the house," Luo said with a casual wave. He then turned his attention to the boxing match streaming on his computer, signaling that the conversation was over.

"Thanks, Luo. I'll bring you some food and drinks later. We can celebrate properly then," Jack said, rolling his shoulder to test his mobility. Finding he could move freely, he turned to Karl and Oliver, who were waiting nearby. "Alright, time to celebrate the success of this mission."

"Got any restaurant recommendations?" Oliver asked. "I'm not too familiar with Watson District."

"There's a solid Japanese place over in Kabuki," Jack replied, glancing at Karl. "What do you think?"

"Japanese food?" Karl hesitated before nodding. "Sure, why not. Haven't had any in a while. But Kabuki? Isn't that area mostly just entertainment and shady businesses? Are there really good restaurants there?"

"People have to eat, even if they're tired from partying," Jack said confidently. "Trust me, the food there is great—though I can't say it's exactly authentic Japanese cuisine."

With Jack's firm recommendation, the three piled into Oliver's car and headed toward Kabuki. Along the way, they chatted about how they planned to spend their hard-earned 40,000 eddies.

Forty thousand eddies was more than most people in Night City could dream of. Even among mercenaries, few managed to save that much. Most barely scraped by, spending their commissions as quickly as they earned them. It wasn't uncommon for mercs to be worse off than some gang members, struggling to afford even basic equipment upgrades.

"I'm putting aside ten grand for a car or motorcycle," Jack said. "The other thirty will go toward some subdermal armor. One of those Maelstrom psychos had armor that could shrug off a Copperhead. Once I get some proper upgrades, I'll be unstoppable."

Jack didn't consider scavenging armor from the dead, even though it would have been cheaper. As a proud Mexican, he respected the dead too much to defile their bodies, unlike scavenger gangs. Plus, second-hand cyberware rarely fit properly without extensive adjustments, and poorly calibrated implants could lead to cyberpsychosis—a risk Jack wasn't willing to take.

Cyberpsychosis was a condition caused by the disconnect between a human's mind and their augmented body. It often resulted in madness and violence, making cyberpsychotics a nightmare for even the NCPD to handle. In such cases, specialized teams were called in to neutralize the threat. Jack wasn't about to risk becoming one of those statistics.

Curious about Jack's plans, Oliver asked, "What kind of car are you thinking about for ten grand? That's only enough for a basic second-hand model."

"As long as it has four seats, I'm good," Jack replied, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped passenger seat. "At least it'll have more room than this thing."

"This thing," Oliver retorted, "is a sports car worth 29,000 eddies. It's meant for picking up girls, not cramming in two grown men."

"You're using this trash to pick up girls?" Jack laughed.

"Santo Domingo girls appreciate down-to-earth guys," Oliver shot back.

"Sure, if by 'down-to-earth' you mean rough from all the sandstorms," Jack teased. "Girls from Heywood are the real deal—fiery, passionate, and loyal."

"Please. Heywood girls are so fast that they're in and out of your car before you've even started it."

"Alright, you two, knock it off," Karl interrupted, squeezed uncomfortably between them in the back seat. "Let's stick to the topic. Oliver, how are you planning to spend your share?"

"First thing, I'm renting an apartment," Oliver said. "Sleeping in my car or in hotels isn't cutting it anymore. After that, I'll upgrade my implants. You can't survive in this business without proper augments. Maybe I'll specialize—become a team doctor or a sniper."

"Got a place in mind?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, thinking about a super-skyscraper in Little China. The rent's reasonable, and there are cheap eats nearby. Convenient."

"I know that place," Oliver said, glancing at Karl. "Karl, what about you? Got a plan?"

"I might check out the same building," Karl replied. "It's close, so it makes sense. As for the rest of the money, I'm not sure yet. I'll probably invest in a new pistol. My Lexington isn't cutting it anymore."

As they continued their banter, the car's navigation system guided them through the neon-lit streets to their destination.

It was time to celebrate.

For more advanced chapters

patreon.com/Thereator