"To think Judy could determine the general location just by spotting a mark on a surgical table... she's amazing." Even after getting in the
"To think Judy could determine the general location just by spotting a mark on a surgical table... she's amazing."
Even after getting in the car, V was still muttering about the clue Judy had provided.
"She's an expert in braindance, after all. She's handled countless BDs—both legal and black-market. Surgical tables show up a lot in illegal ones, so it's not surprising she could identify the place at a glance."
Sitting in the passenger seat of V's beloved car—the Rayfield Caliburn GA40XT "Viper"—Karl didn't find it too surprising.
Just like how Vik could instantly tell which ripperdoc did a mod just by looking at the cyberware, deep industry experience tends to come with a wealth of knowledge.
That said, Judy really had done them a huge favor this time. Not only did she extract the Scav's dream, she also taught them the technique and even found the lead they needed. They owed her, and they wouldn't forget it.
If Judy ever needed help, Karl was already thinking they should take that job no matter what.
As Karl thought about all this, he kept revisiting the clue in his mind.
Judy had identified the surgical table's manufacturer—a now-defunct hospital.
This hospital had shut down due to pressure from Trauma Team and poor location. It sat at the edge of Santo Domingo near the Badlands, and no one wanted to deal with the rundown property. Over time, the place had decayed like the rest of the abandoned buildings in Pacifica. But since it was once a hospital, much of its equipment remained, and eventually, illegal BD studios took advantage of that, secretly setting up shop. Apparently, that's where the Scavs had built their human "storage facility."
"I get it now—why they only kidnapped young people. Probably because one of those illegal BD editors at that hospital needs specific material for some messed-up BD, so they're grabbing people to use as content."
V scowled with disgust. "If we're lucky, maybe we can wipe out all of them in one go."
"If they're still around after we rescue the victims, yeah—absolutely."
Karl agreed, though his priority remained clear: get the people out first.
Chances were, V hadn't wiped out every Scav in his earlier raid. They needed to get the victims out before anyone noticed. As for the black BD producers, they could deal with them afterward—time permitting.
Karl had a good idea of where the Scavs' "warehouse" would be.
An old, windowless facility with connected rooms—most likely in the hospital's basement. And given the Scavs' methods, this so-called "warehouse" might have once been known as the morgue.
V's Viper sped down the road, roaring toward Santo Domingo from Watson in record time.
The hospital they were looking for was right on the edge of Santo Domingo, bordering the Badlands—more remote than either of them expected.
After navigating through Santo Domingo, they finally arrived. Through the yellow haze of windblown Badlands sand, Karl and V spotted their target.
"This really is out on the fringe," V muttered, parking the car and eyeing the crumbling walls of the sprawling hospital complex. "Another mile or so and we'd be in the Badlands."
Judging by the size, it must've once been a thriving facility. But now, under this sandstorm, it had become a husk.
"Patients here were probably mostly drifters from the Badlands, smugglers, and gang members. All the people corpos and NCPD love to target. The hospital got shut down in part because the patient demographic was too niche, but mostly due to snitches—Night City Trauma Team and the medical centers. In this town, competitors are cutthroat. The moment someone spots a weakness, it's over."
Karl recited this as he read through the hospital's old records.
"There was another reason too," he added. "The location may have been ideal for smuggling, and medical supplies and injured bodies were never in short supply, but the value of human life kept dropping. Eventually, people stopped bringing in injured friends altogether and just split the money among the survivors."
"So it got ratted out, lost its patient base, and couldn't stay afloat?"
"Basically, yeah."
Karl shrugged. "Not that I feel sorry for it. This place had its share of dirt. Shutting down was just the result of underworld backstabbing."
"You think I'm naïve or something?" V snorted. "An underground hospital for smugglers, gangs, and strays—yeah, sounds real trustworthy. I'm a drifter myself, but come on. No way a hospital like this was ever clean."
"Exactly why it's now a perfect cesspool."
They pressed on through the sandstorm. It wasn't a particularly intense one—just enough to sting the eyes. After about ten minutes on foot, they reached the hospital.
They'd left the car parked far away to avoid drawing attention, but it turned out they didn't need to worry.
From behind a collapsed wall, they could see rows of vehicles parked inside. V quickly spotted at least five cars bearing the Maelstrom insignia.
"Looks like we've found the place. You know, maybe this hospital still serves its 'original purpose' in a way. Black BD editors know exactly how to keep people alive while they torture them… maybe they even picked up some medical skills."
V turned to Karl—and noticed a vaguely familiar figure crouching near the hospital's outer wall, peeking inside just like they were.
That figure was—
As a gust of wind blew past and cleared the sand momentarily, V finally got a clear look at the person, their butt sticking up in the air as they leaned over the wall to spy inside.
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