Vik rubbed his temples as he powered up the chair, the hydraulics groaning. "Alright, fine. But don't say I didn't warn you. Chrome like this usually belongs in Arasaka vaults, not walking around Watson on some gonk's budget."
Max leaned against the wall, arms folded, mask back in place. His optics tracked every line of code and pulse reading in the clinic's system.
Jackie was first to climb onto the chair, grinning despite the tension in the air. "Gorilla Arms, baby. Been dreamin' about these since I was knockin' heads in El Coyote."
Vik snorted. "Dreamin' is one thing. Living with 'em is another. These aren't toys, Jackie. They'll take some getting used to."
Max spoke before Jackie could crack a joke. "Install the arms and the Kerenzikov. Nothing else. His tolerance has limits."
Vik glanced up at him, frowning. "You a doc now, too?"
"Call it… intuition," Max replied evenly.
Vik muttered under his breath but didn't argue. Soon the room filled with the whir of tools and the sharp tang of sterilizers. Jackie gritted his teeth as the arms locked into place with a heavy clunk. The muscle fibers fused, plated metal sliding seamlessly under skin. By the time Vik was done, Jackie flexed, the servos hissing with raw power.
"¡Chingón! Feel like I could punch a truck in half," Jackie laughed, rolling his new arms with awe.
"You could," Vik muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just don't try it yet. Let the nerves settle. Or you'll fry yourself."
Next was V.
She slid into the chair with a cool confidence, though her eyes lingered on the Mantis Blades when Vik unsealed the casing.
"Never thought I'd get a chance at chrome like this," she admitted softly.
Max didn't respond, only watching.
The procedure took longer—neural relays, Sandevistan processors threading into her spine, delicate as silk. Vik's hands were steady, though his muttering betrayed his nerves.
When it was done, the air felt heavier. V sat up slowly, her pupils dilating as her optics re-synced. A faint shnnk echoed as the blades slid out with predatory grace, edges gleaming under the clinic light.
Vik stepped back, shaking his head. "You're a walking nightmare, girl. Reflexes like lightning, a time-dilation system in your head, and enough cutting power to carve through steel doors. If Max here hadn't vouched for you, I'd have called MaxTac myself."
V smirked, retracting the blades. "Guess good thing you didn't."
Jackie let out a whistle. "Damn, hermana. Remind me not to piss you off."
Max pushed off the wall, voice calm but sharp. "Don't test it yet. Learn your limits. That chrome is power, but power gets people killed when they get cocky."
Vik gave Max a wary look. "You talk like someone who's seen it too many times."
Max didn't answer.
Instead, he pulled a credchip from his coat and set it on Vik's counter. More than enough to cover everything—and Vik knew it.
The ripper picked it up slowly. "…You're dangerous, whoever you are. And not just because of what's under your skin."
Max's optics flared faintly beneath his mask. "That's the point."
With that, he turned, heading for the door. Jackie flexed his new arms once more, V tested the speed in her step, and the three of them left Vik's clinic behind.
Outside, Watson's neon buzzed and flickered against the smog.
Max paused, scanning the horizon like he was already calculating the next move. "You've got your edge now. Time to see if you can use it. The city won't wait for you to adjust."
Jackie cracked his knuckles with a grin. "Then let's get to work, jefe."
V smirked, stepping ahead of them. "Yeah. Point us at the first target. Let's make it loud."
Max shrugged, pulling his coat tighter as the night air hummed with distant sirens. "I don't have to find the job. You do."
Jackie blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"
"You know Padre," Max said evenly. "Fixer in Heywood. Word is, he respects loyalty. You bring us the gig. Loud enough, clean enough. Then the rest will come running to us."
Jackie leaned back, a slow grin spreading. "Heh. Alright, jefe. You ain't wrong. Padre and me go back—he trusts me. If I vouch for you, he'll listen."
Max gave a faint smirk. "Good. Then leave it to you."
V cocked her head, sliding her hands into her jacket pockets, still testing the twitch of her new chrome. "So you're just sending Jackie in as your salesman? Bold move. What if Padre doesn't like the pitch?"
"Then Jackie makes him like it," Max replied calmly.
Jackie chuckled, flexing his new gorilla arms with a metallic hiss. "Trust me, hermana. Padre'll come through. He always does."
They walked toward the Murkmobile, its engine purring low like a predator waiting for release. The neon glow of Watson painted them in fractured colors, half-shadow, half-light.
Jackie slung into the driver's seat, grinning at Max. "Tomorrow, I take you to Heywood. We pay Padre a visit, see what kind of gig he's got. If he's got nothing, we stir something up ourselves."
Max slid into the passenger seat, voice steady. "Either way, we walk out with a job. One good gig—and this city won't ignore us."
V leaned back against the seat, a slow smile curling on her lips. "Fine. But it better be a gig worth my time. I didn't get these blades just to chop up gangoons in an alley."
Max's optics flared faintly as he turned his gaze out the window, watching the skyline pulse with corporate towers and chaos.
"It will be," he said simply. "Because if it's not… I'll make it worth it."
The car slid into the night, carrying them toward the next step—Jackie's call to Padre, and the first job that would mark their names in blood and neon across Night City.
Morning bled into midday as the trio rolled through Heywood, the Murkmobile's engine humming steady while the streets outside bustled with mercados, food stalls, and the constant buzz of chatter layered with music and gunfire in the distance.
Jackie leaned back behind the wheel, grinning wide. "Man, feels good being back here. You'll see, chooms—Padre's got eyes everywhere in Heywood. If there's biz worth taking, he'll know."
***
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It's 22 chaps ahead