Chapter 27 (Part 2)

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Alex Mitchell (Volkov) POV

"Alex, are you in here?" I heard Inga's voice coming from the entrance to the workshop. From the sound of it, she had someone with her. Without wasting time, I quickly concealed Vega's future body behind a special opaque screen, keeping it hidden from prying eyes.

"Need something?" I turned toward the door, unlocking it with a quick swipe.

"The kids brought the box," the blonde said as she entered, followed by a guy with Latin features who looked vaguely familiar. He set the box down on the floor and shot me an amused grin.

"He's a bit big to be called a 'kid,' don't you think?" I said, my voice dripping with irony as I looked the guy over, trying to place his face. "Maybe you should introduce yourself first?" I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"The sexiest Latino in Night City, at your service," he said with an exaggerated, playful bow.

"That voice, the face, and that ridiculous sense of humor… Who do you remind me of?" I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. Then it clicked. "Of course," I said, smacking my fist into my open palm. "You're Marty."

There was an awkward pause before a muffled snort of laughter echoed from the hallway.

"You're messing with me, right?" Ramirez said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"Is it that obvious, Marty?"

"You little smartass," the brunette muttered, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.

"Hey, I'm taller than you now," I shot back, smirking at my old friend's grumbling. "Looks like you've really gone all-in with the chrome. Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit, Marco?"

"In my line of work, there's no such thing as too much chrome," he replied calmly, shrugging as if it were nothing. "But yeah, sometimes it feels like a bit much, even for me."

"Got it…" I said, giving his augmentations a scrutinizing once-over. "Hop in the chair. Let me check the state of your… 'soul.'"

Marco shrugged again and silently moved to the chair. He settled in, raising an eyebrow as if to ask what was next. With an exaggerated eye-roll, I snapped my fingers, activating the scanner through remote control. A large hologram appeared in the center of the room, displaying all the real-time data I'd pulled from him. The materials I'd bought from Wakako in exchange for my help had been crucial in building the equipment I needed for work like this.

"Neuro-drift at 64%, overall implant synchronization is even worse. Your system caches are clogged to hell. Been buying used implants?" I asked without looking up, continuing to examine the readings on the display.

"Buying new toys is an expensive habit, and besides, I've gotten used to them," Marco shook his head, sounding resigned.

"In plain terms, your body is a heap of rusted scrap metal right now. Fine, I won't charge you for the diagnostics, but fixing your sorry self is gonna cost you."

"How much?" The brunette asked, clearly used to this kind of transaction.

"If you want everything fixed, it's fifty. If it's just the materials, then twenty. Since we're old friends, I'll only charge for the materials." I leaned against the nearby table, waiting for Ramirez's decision.

"Fine, I'm in." He closed his eyes, sending the money over to the workshop's account.

"In that case, be a good boy for the next hour. Dr. Alex Mengele will take good care of you," I said with a grim smile, leaning over my now visibly paler friend as I pulled on a pair of specialized gloves.

After strapping Marco securely into the chair, I put him into a deep sleep. Beyond the external implants, he had several synthetic organs that were long overdue for replacement. His liver and lungs were practically done for — installed years ago by someone who clearly sold him garbage while passing it off as top-grade merchandise. Roosevelt had warned me this was common in Night City, even among licensed ripperdocs. It's no surprise some sleazy operator conned the young mercenary.

People without much money are often forced into these kinds of bad deals, playing a dangerous game of Russian roulette with their bodies. In the month that Inga and I have run this clinic-workshop, I've encountered this problem more than once. While cyberware is relatively cheap due to its massive availability on the market, even in those cases, the local "doctors" try to cut corners and rip off their clients.

We kept synthetic organs in special capsules in our storage room, which I'd expanded to maintain a decent stock. When supplies run low, Vega handles the orders for me through a local AI, and by the next day, the new items are delivered right to the clinic's door. Running a clinic in the tower is a costly endeavor from the get-go, so it's no surprise most people opt to rent space elsewhere.

In all of Megabuilding H-4, there are only three clinics, two of which are located on the lower levels. Even though our clinic is gaining a solid reputation, we still can't handle all the clients coming our way. There's no way Inga and I could manage the influx of people on our own. Medical treatment in America might be expensive, but there will always be people looking to patch themselves up. Most banks offer special medical loans, allowing people to afford cyberware installations through payment plans. This has become the go-to method for the majority, given how hard it is to come up with the full amount upfront.

After reviewing all the details, I asked Vega to handle the repairs on the implants we had removed from Marco's body. Meanwhile, Inga had already brought me the replacement organs. The transplant process was handled by the surgical program I had installed, saving me a significant amount of time. Once the new synthetic organs were in place, my assistant used nanomachines to restore the implants to working order, so all that remained was calibrating the remaining systems. It's a tedious task, but absolutely essential. Calibration affects many things, including the overall neuro-drift levels. On average, the sensitivity of a limb sits around seventy-five percent.

If the calibration falls below this mark, the person begins to feel a delay in their movements. If it exceeds eighty-five percent, the limb becomes indistinguishable from a natural one. Typically, neuro-drift cannot improve without the person gradually adjusting to their new limb — a process inherent to a fresh implant. But when it comes to deterioration, it's usually caused by a critical build-up of cache within the augmentations. A special maintenance check should be performed every two to three months, but most people are forced to use their limbs far longer than recommended. This leads to numerous issues, including glitches in the implants. If this situation worsens, the individual risks experiencing sensory shock, which can result in the onset of cyberpsychosis.

Augmentations from different manufacturers can exacerbate these problems even more. In such cases, the cache builds up at an accelerated rate, making the onset of cyberpsychosis all but inevitable. Implants are dangerous by nature, yet people continue to turn themselves into walking chunks of metal for the sake of externally imposed convenience. If you think about it, this is why full cyborgs — often called "twins" — are less prone to going mad. In those cases, it's no longer just the augmentations causing issues but the human brain itself.

The human brain is highly adaptive to external threats, and this applies to cyberware as well. At some point, the brain realizes that its sensations are deceptive, leading to what's known as a "crisis moment." When a cyborg enters this state, they have about two days to receive help, or they'll likely be neutralized. During a cyberpsychosis episode, the individual's empathy fades rapidly, eventually disappearing altogether. Even in such cases, it's still possible to save the person, but the price is high. Restoring a biological body is an expensive procedure, affordable only to the wealthiest. And that's without considering the side effects, which are unlikely to be pleasant. It's easy to turn yourself into a borg, but becoming human again? That's another story.

If you think about it, this is the dark side of progress — how far things have spiraled out of control in Night City. People wanted to make life easier for themselves so badly that they didn't notice when they crossed the line. At some point, I realized there's no point in being surprised by humanity's desperate desire to become machines. No one was given much of a choice. But I want to be the one to give people that choice… the real one.