🕙 10:00 AM — Viktor's Clinic
Vik yawned and stretched, vertebrae cracking like a beat-up med station. "Damn… slept like a preem-tier corpse."
He rubbed his face, brewed coffee, and checked his messages.
Ping. From V.
Vik chuckled. "Of course he wants to build a clinic. Just got here and already planning to rebuild the city…"
He tapped into his own contact list and pinged an old friend — Marcus, a fellow ripperdoc with access to high-end supply chains.
A low voice answered. "Yo, Vik. Long time. What's up?"
"Got a client. Wants a full-body setup — chair, scanner, neural interface… the works. What's the going rate for mid-tier?"
Marcus didn't skip a beat. "Mid-tier like you got? Around 250,000. Full deck, surgical-grade. Good resale, too."
Vik grunted. "Alright. But let me guess — you got something better."
Marcus laughed.
"Well… there was a clinic. Arasaka-owned. Private-tier. High-end chrome, military firmware, deep support network. One of their top ripperdocs ran it—before he accidentally fell out a 37th-floor window."
"Damn."
"Yeah. His wife still owns the place. Hates Arasaka. Refuses to sell it back to them. Everything's locked down — firmware, access nodes, even the med-chairs. But the hardware? Pure gold."
Vik blinked. "How much she asking?"
"No idea. Arasaka offered 200k just for reacquisition, and she laughed in their face. Thing is, it's locked. To use any of it, you'd need to go to Dogtown and get the core firmware decrypted."
Vik winced. "Dogtown? Shit. They'll smell creds and jack the price."
"Exactly. Even though it's secondhand, Dogtown unshackling costs as much as buying new. And those hyenas don't do discounts."
Vik paused. "Send me her number. I'll arrange a meeting. If my client's interested, we'll talk."
Marcus chuckled. "Friend, huh? I didn't know you had time for chooms."
"I don't. But this one… might be the real deal."
"Ripperdocs, uniting? Thought that movie was about monkeys."
"It was apes, dumbass."
"Close enough. Good luck, Vik. Try not to get your face shot off."
"Yeah yeah. Later."
🕚 11:00 AM — Incoming Call: Viktor
V stepped out of the bedroom, still drying his hair with a towel when the holo-call buzzed.
📱 [Incoming: Viktor Vector]
"Hey, my favorite ripper," V answered, dropping into the kitchen chair.
"Yo, Vincent," Vik said, already halfway into a sip of coffee. "I think I've got something for you. But it's not simple."
V raised an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"
"Hardware's top-tier, corpo-grade. But it's locked. Hard locked. Like, Arasaka brainstem-type lockdown. Even you might have to sweat a little."
"You trying to scare me or impress me?"
Vik chuckled. "Bit of both. Listen — the setup is legit: surgical rig, interface scanners, med-arm automation, the works. Private Arasaka doc owned it. Guy took a dive off a tower and his wife's sitting on the gear like it's cursed."
"Is it free?"
"Nothing's free. But she ain't sellin' to Arasaka, I can tell you that. Might sell to you, if you convince her. I'll patch you her number."
SLAM. Something clattered in the background.
Rebecca, now in just one of V's shirts, skid across the hallway floor, dual-wielding bananas like pistols. "V! You forgot breakfast!"
"Rebecca, please—I'm on a call."
"Oh noooo, he's working~" she sang, spinning like a gremlin.
Vik stifled a laugh.
"V," he said, "you've got a whole zoumba routine goin' on back there."
"Five minutes, Rebecca!" V said firmly. "Just five!"
She pouted. "That's what you said last night. But then it was four, and you just shivered~"
"...Vic, send the number."
"Already did." Vik smirked. "And V—don't send me money. We rippers gotta stick together. Apes united, yeah?"
V snorted. "You're not an ape."
"I'm an ape with a laser bone saw and morals. You're welcome."
V grinned. "Thanks, m8. Also — if you've got supplier info? I'll need hardware too. Prefer raw, mod-ready chrome. I like building my own firmware."
Vik nodded. "Sending you a list now. My sources are clean — official or secondhand from verified replacements. No scav junk. You know how I feel about that."
"Good," V said. "I hate scavs."
Rebecca clattered a spoon against a glass. "Hey! Why's it not hard again?!"
V palmed his face. "I'm trying to work."
"You didn't say that last night! You gave me everything and nothing!"
"Rebecca…"
"You want me to use my hormone regulator again?"
"No!"
"It worked! Last night I was like BOOM—"
"Rebecca please!!"
She struck a dramatic pose, arm across her forehead. "Fine! Withhold yourself. Deny the truth! But know this — I was this close to scheduling you for maintenance."
"Vic I gotta go."
"Sure. Don't die. Or explode. Or let her kill you with… whatever that was."
🚿 2 Hours Later – In the Shower
Steam filled the bathroom.
V leaned against the wall, water trailing down his face.
He exhaled, trying to recalibrate.
That girl is… something else.
He looked toward the open door.
She was gone. Left without a word.
"…Is it a good thing she knows my address?" he muttered.
He genuinely didn't know.
📞 Call: Fukui-Minamoto
V leaned on the kitchen counter, still drying his hair from the second shower of the day. He keyed in the number Vik had forwarded.
Ring. Ring. Click.
A woman's voice answered — clipped, smooth, with years of practiced dismissal behind every syllable.
"This is Fukui-Minamoto. If you're from Arasaka, or any other corpo-slime outfit, save us both the trouble and go swallow your own contract. I don't sell to dogs. Not now. Not ever."
V held up his hand reflexively, even though she couldn't see him.
"Apologies. I'm not corpo. I'm a ripperdoc — new to Night City. Setting up shop. Heard about your hardware through the underground. Just asking for a meeting. Chrome to chrome."
Silence.
Then a sigh, reluctant and sharp.
"Fine. Café Azure. Japantown. 13:30. I'll be with my guards. You have five minutes — if I think you're wasting my time, you'll lose more than that."
Click.
No confirmation. No goodbye.
"...Charming," V muttered.
📥 Message: Unknown Number
Ding.
📱 New Message
"If you're meeting Fukui, show her this. Only she and I know what it means."
Attached: a grainy photo of a younger Fukui laughing with a grinning man in tiger-print cyberarm sleeves — clearly another ripperdoc.
Note: "Tell her 'Neko says hi.' If she doesn't kill you after that, you're fine."
P.S. Ripperdocs United.
V smirked. "Neko, huh? Let's hope she still finds that funny."
🏃♂️ Gear-Up
He had thirty minutes.
Too slow.
Sandevistan: Engaged.
In under one second, he was dressed, armed, and out the door. Hair still a little wet. Whatever — it gave him that I didn't sleep because I'm dangerous look.
📺 News Feed — En Route
As the Warlock accelerated through the underpasses, V flicked open the HUD screen.
"Tensions escalate as protests erupt outside Arasaka Plaza this morning. Citizens and anti-corporate activists gathered to denounce what they're calling a 'targeted execution' inside Night City territory."
"This is our city," shouted one masked protestor. "Not their sandbox."
A split-screen showed a frazzled NCPD lieutenant in full armor, clashing verbally with an Arasaka spokesperson in a polished grey suit.
"We didn't request support from Arasaka," the cop growled. "We could've handled it."
"Our internal affairs unit responded to a flagged target. Lethal force was authorized per clause 9.7."
"Clause 9.7 isn't law. It's corporate fiction."
V sighed, eyes narrowing.
Arasaka's scrambling. Never a better time to loot their trash.
⏱️ 13:25 – Café Azure, Japantown
The Warlock eased into place in the reserved VIP zone, matte paint glinting under neon sakura signage.
She was already there.
Fukui-Minamoto.
Gorgeous, dangerous, unmistakably corpo-born — but with none of the leash.
She stood with one hip cocked, cigarette dangling from her lip, coat slashed in traditional Japanese-cut but tech-fiber armored. Four bodyguards in sleek black plating flanked her, arms crossed.
She looked at V. Slowly. Calculating.
"That car... expensive. But not corpo-tier. You earn one minute."
She gestured at his shirt, unimpressed. "Those clothes? Practical. Ugly. Not the kind a suit picks out. Three minutes."
She stepped forward, heels clicking.
"That gives you five total. Talk."
V bowed gently.
"Fukui-Minamoto-sama. I understand your caution."
He flicked open his holo and showed her the photo — the one with Neko, her old ripper contact, both laughing with half-drunk smiles.
Her eyes paused on it.
For half a second, her face cracked into something close to a smile.
"Neko sent you that?"
V nodded.
"Said to tell you: Neko says hi."
She exhaled through her nose — not quite a laugh. Then, a quick bark of real amusement.
"That stupid man. Still uses tiger-print, doesn't he?"
She crushed her cigarette and turned.
"Alright, chrome cowboy. Let's walk."
As she moved, her hips swayed with intimidating grace, the guards falling into place around them like a trained pack.
Well, V thought, either I'm getting chrome… or my teeth redecorated. It's a win win I guess.
🏢 Elevator Ride: V & Fukui
As the chrome-paneled elevator ascended, the doors closed behind V and Fukui-Minamoto, sealing them off from the world — and her four looming bodyguards.
She stood close — not uncomfortably so, but close enough for tension to bloom.
She sniffed lightly, almost casual.
"You smell nice, at least."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Don't be afraid, I don't bite," she said. Then added with a dry smile:
"Not a lot."
Her eyes lingered on his face. "That jaw… Is that chrome?"
"Natural," V replied, straightening slightly.
"'Ma'am' and 'ma'am'," she mocked lightly. "Call me Fukui. Or Fukui-chan if you want to be polite and useful."
"Ah. Fukui-san—"
"Chan. I said chan."
"Yes, Fukui-chan."
She gave a slight grin, head tilting as she gave him another once-over.
"You're a big one, huh…"
Ding. The elevator arrived.
🔧 Inside the Clinic
As the doors opened, V stepped into the dark, cold remains of a once state-of-the-art Arasaka medical facility. Dust-covered chairs, chrome arms folded in sleep, surgical tables, stacked boxes sealed with code-locked strips.
And then—
His eyes widened.
DNA Regulator. New generation. Sleek lines, zero dust. Its casing shimmered like polished silver.
Even a ten years old version of this would run two million eddies on the black market.
V stared like a man witnessing a sacred relic.
No rejection buffer on Earth could match this. It didn't just adapt — it synchronized. And reset. You could tear chrome off a corpse, plug it into a fresh socket, and it would function like factory new.
He swallowed, quietly.
She walked slowly across the tiles, her heels clicking.
"My husband was a good ripper. Not like Neko — but good. Arasaka paid him well. Too well." She paused. "Then he 'slipped' from a 39th-floor balcony."
A silence hung.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said flatly. "Arasaka offered 200k for all this junk. Just the chair in that corner is worth that."
"I'm not sure I can afford it…" V said, half-apologetic.
"Oh, I know," she cut in. "Nice car. But a real corp agent wouldn't drive anything that touches the street."
She circled him, dragging her eyes along every line of his frame.
"You're strong. That jawline? Unfair. Those brows? Bold. Eyes? Steady. You look like a statue sculpted by someone with very specific tastes."
V cleared his throat.
"And tall. You're tall. I like tall."
And then—without pause—Fukui let her coat fall to the floor.
No bra. Tight panties. Cool as steel.
"I'm stressed," she said. "You don't have to help with that, but I won't stop you either."
POV Switch – Lobby
The bodyguards stood by the elevator, arms crossed.
"She's taking her time," one muttered.
Another grunted. "It's Fukui. You know how she is."
"Yeah. I just hope he survives."
☎️ 17:00 – Call from Jackie (Updated)
Rrrring.
"Yo, V! Where you been all day?" Jackie asked. "Thought you ghosted."
"Sorry, bro. Been busy. Working to set up shop."
Jackie laughed. "Clinic dreams already? You move fast."
"Something like that."
"Well, check this — I got a line on a reliable work bot company. They've got old-school humanoid bots that still hold up. No logs. Self-reboot after each session. Perfect for your setup."
"Nice."
"And hey — remember that guy who helped us sneak through the border from the Badlands? I know you slipped him extra creds. That's why I'm bumping your cut."
+60,000 eddies received
(60/40 split after border bribe)
"Thanks, Jackie. Didn't have to do that."
Jackie grinned. "You help out? I pay it back. I ain't unjust, hermano."
🖤 Windshield Note + Message from Fukui
As V approached his Warlock, he spotted a sleek black card tucked under the wiper.
Scrawled in fine handwriting:
"Please dress like someone with taste. You look horrible."
(♥ — You have my ID number.)
He sighed. "People in this city use so many hormone regulators, they forget they're even human."
Ding.
New message. Fukui's number.
"Don't contact me again. I don't sell anymore. Kurt Hansen was the best bidder. Thanks. Bye."
V smirked.
She's covering her tracks. And mine. Smart woman. Grateful, too.
📦 Delivery Bots Incoming
He called in a work order.
"Yes, hello. I'd like to order four helper bots for moving and setup. Full customization skillsets — painting, wiring, assembly."
"Premium package?"
"Yeah. No sexbots."
"Your loss, sir — would've been a discount bundle."
He paid 5,600 eddies for two days of full service.
⚙️ The Setup Begins
Ten minutes later, the bots arrived — hunched, faceless, efficient.
One knocked down the side door instead of measuring it.
"Will rebuild," it chirped.
Perfect, V thought.
He guided them upstairs. Dozens of boxes now lined the garage walls. The bots scanned, sorted, sorted again. No wasted movement. No breaks.
☎️ Call from Vik
"Yo," Vik's voice crackled.
"Yeah?"
"Did it work?"
"I bought the gear."
"Nice! That Neko tip helped, huh?"
"Maybe… helped a bit too much."
Vik paused. "…What did you pay?"
V leaned back in his chair.
"My soul."
"V…"
"I'm serious."
"No, seriously — how much did it cost?"
"…Nothing. Not a single eddie. Even the transport was free."
"What?!" Vik practically shouted. "You... pretty boy son of a gun."
V chuckled. "Maybe it's good to be young and tall with clean chrome."
Vik sighed dramatically. "I remember when I came to Night City. I was young. Had hair. Passion. Dreams. Could solder a nano-thread blindfolded."
"Let me guess, now you just curse at supply vendors."
"Exactly! I yell at faulty subsystems like they owe me money."
"Alright, Vik. Gotta run. I'll update you when we start calibrating."
"You better. And hey, sleep at some point. Your hardware might be fresh — but your brain still squishes like anyone else's."
📲 One Last Ping
As V stepped out of the engineering room, his neural HUD flashed with a message notification.
📱 [Rebecca]
"Hey hey~ If you need a cleaning lady, I know the BEST. Super cheap, high-energy, great curves — and she's already stolen your hoodie. 😏🧹"
"P.S. Her name starts with an R and ends in -ecca. Just sayin'."
V chuckled, shaking his head.
"If she shows up with a mop, I'm moving planets."
He fired back a short reply:
"Bots already doing it. If you show up, wear armor. I might mistake you for another work drone."
No reply. Just a heart emoji. And a middle finger.
💤 Shutdown Directive
He turned to the four worker bots, standing idle but ready. A few had already started scanning wall layouts, prepping paint strokes and tool placements.
He gave the go-ahead with a gesture.
"Alright. Paint. Patch. Rack. Then shut down until I wake up. No movement, no hum, no new orders unless I say so."
One of the bots blinked in response:
"Acknowledged. Sleep cycle engaged after task completion."
They rolled into motion, silent and efficient.
V watched them go for a moment, then let out a breath.
Tomorrow's for brilliance. Tonight's for shutting off.
He headed to the bedroom, lay down without removing his boots, and let the low hum of servo noise rock him into unconsciousness.
Night City stayed loud.
But in here, V finally powered down.
☀️ 10:00 AM – Fresh Start
V awoke with a slow breath — mind clear, body humming with post-upgrade clarity. The bots had finished their overnight tasks. The air smelled like new wiring and industrial polish. Chrome paradise.
He blinked into his HUD. Notifications piled up.
📩 [09:00 – Rebecca]
"I'm home alone. So alone. So tragically feline. You know what they say about cats when left alone too long? They shed, scratch, and break furniture. Save me, dog-boy."
V chuckled. He typed back:
"Only if you promise not to hiss when I spray you with discipline."
📩 [Lucy]
"Rebecca says you're trustworthy. Think you could check Martinez's chrome sometime? No rush, but he could use a tune-up."
📩 [Dorio]
"Could you take a look at Maine's chrome? I think he worships you after that psycho incident. It's… complicated. We'll pay, of course."
📩 [Fukui]
"Hope you bought new clothes. The card I gave you has a gift balance, by the way. This is my personal ID – if you ever get a scratch, I can help."
"NO. NEVER," V thought. "What is wrong with this city? Can't a man relax without getting flirted at, bribed, or stabbed?"
"Now I get why joytoys are outta business — nobody wants to pay for what Night City throws at you for free."
He started responding.
🖋️ To Lucy:
"Sure. Once the setup's done, I'll check on Martinez. If he's up for it."
🖋️ To Dorio:
"Of course. I'll swing by soon. Let Maine know to hold still this time."
🖋️ To Fukui:
No reply.
(Just a small internal scream.)
"Did I forget something? Ah — Jackie!"
He hit the call.
📞 [Jackie]
"Yo, mijo! Where you been?"
"Still setting up the place. Chrome never sleeps."
"Órale, órale. I'll swing by late afternoon with some food. Help out a bit."
As he stepped into the hallway connecting the engineering room and main apartment, the bots were still working — laying cables, mounting panels, glossing floors.
"Damn. They're efficient."
The wide hallway was mostly empty. No elevator. Just one dumb wall separating the engineering space from the apartment.
"Maybe I should knock it down. Connect both rooms fully. Expand the lab. Is that legal? Eh… I'll make it legal."
He called the landlord.
📞 [Emilion]
"Hello again, Mr. Vincent. What's up?"
"I've got an idea. Can you swing by real quick?"
"Mmm… showing a unit nearby, so sure. But can't stay long. Got a date."
"No worries. Won't take much."
Fifteen minutes later, Emilion walked in, paused at the sight of the bots, and blinked.
"I want to remove that wall," V said. "Make the hallway part of my engineering lab."
Emilion whistled. "That'll raise the value, honestly. Do what you want. You flatline, it's my profit."
"You're dark, man."
"I'm just the middleman for Golden Home. But yeah — in Night City, I might as well be the landlord of dreams."
Back inside, new message pings:
📩 [Dorio] – "Thank you. Really appreciate it."
📩 [Rebecca] –
"You know how to make a cat talk like a dog? Douse her in gasoline, light her up, and she goes 'WOOF'."
V stared at the screen.
"Not replying. But… she's funny. Dammit."
📩 [Lucy] – "Thanks."
He called Lucy.
"Hey, quick one — you know where I can find deep-dive netrunning hardware?"
"Don't have vendor contacts, but Kiwi might help. She's… antisocial. But talented."
"Kiwi? Girl with the filtration mask and attitude?"
"Yep. Real netghost. But solid."
📞 [Kiwi]
"I'm V. You remember me?"
"I remember."
"I need deep-dive grade tech."
"It'll cost."
"How much?"
"Cheap? 1–2k. Not-bloody? 4–5k. Mid-tier? 10k. Brand-new? 20k. High-end? 50k+. I'll give you a source. I get 2%."
"Deal. You've got a cool name. Makes me think of fruit salad."
Click. File received.
📞 [Nix]
"Kiwi sent you?"
"Yeah. I want something premium."
"You pay, you play. But start small. Don't fry your brain out the gate."
"You take eddies or just emotional support?"
"You're a cheeky brat. Alright. Got 'packages'. Some are locked, cheap as hell. Risks are yours."
"What's this… Model 5? With the oxygen capsule and dual ICE filters?"
"One mil. Corporate-grade."
"Model 6? Says here 200k?"
"Used. Belonged to Leon. Netrunner legend. Voodoo Boys ran a full strike on him. Merc took his rig. Nobody's cracked it. It's just sitting there like a cursed totem."
"I want it."
"…You rich?"
"No."
"You crazy?"
"Yes."
"200k. Up front. Your funeral."
"Maybe I should start buying broken gear and reselling it. Million eddie plan."
V ordered the bots to begin tearing down the wall. New layout sent. No complaints.
Then he walked out for food.
Hot noodles. Cheap meat. Spices hitting hard.
"Not bad." Taste Regulator: On.
"Waaay better."
📩 [Emilia]
Photo received. Emilia, barely dressed, grinning.
"Hey handsome. Tell me if you want more. Just preparing you for when you 'work on me'. Hehe."
"I should've installed a Libido Zero mod…"
Back at the apartment, the bots were unloading massive crates.
Nix's order had arrived.
Special capsules. Old dive suits. Racks of chipped tools. Some still had dried blood.
"Robo-team — take this upstairs. Back's shot."
They moved without a word. As efficient as ever.
"My wife used to complain when I didn't help with groceries. These bots? Not a single groan. Marry me, bot #3."
Eight hours of sorting, testing, coding. The engineering lab — done.
Medical suite: active.
Weapon tools: aligned.
Memory wipe on bots: verified.
Netrunner systems: installed.
"No hidden ICE, right?"
"...Right."
The bell rang. Connected through every room, even engineering.
"Wait… I didn't order food. Did I?"
He went to check. But before opening the door, he forwarded the latest photos of the lab to:
JackieEmiliaJudyRebeccaViktor
As he opened the door, it wasn't delivery — it was Jackie, holding a steaming bag of homemade food.
"Sorry I'm late, mano. Got stuck in traffic. Smells good, though, yeah?"
They went upstairs together. Jackie looked around and whistled.
"Dios mío… this place's gone full Corpo Jesus."
As they sat down to eat, Jackie leaned forward, curious. "So, what's the story with Emilia, huh?"
"Emilia, huh?" Jackie smirked. "Didn't expect her to be that wild. Thought she was all Corpo, chrome, and contract law. But she's got this… punch to her. Like she's alive again."
"You think anyone shows their real face in Night City?" V asked.
Jackie laughed. "Guess not. Even I wear a mask — it's just shaped like this handsome mug."
"You'd be surprised how many people forget what's underneath," V said. "Including themselves."
They kept eating. V mentioned needing a tune-up model to test on. Jackie raised a brow.
"You're serious?"
"You wanna be my first client? Could rig up something sweet. We'll take your measurements, talk loadouts."
"Hell yeah. Can't be the tank if I don't soak a few hits."
"Tank?"
"You know — the guy up front, fists flying, takin' aggro while you brainiacs hit 'em from behind."
They laughed. Jackie brought up Misty.
"She's been quiet. Lotta weird dreams. Keeps talkin' about her mom."
"Talk to her," V said. "You know how good she is. Don't lose that."
Jackie sighed. "You know women?"
"No one does."
They laughed again. Jackie packed up.
"Alright. I'll let you breathe. Misty'll kill me if I don't bring her some food."
V gave him a fist bump. "Thanks, choom."
Jackie nodded. "See you tomorrow. I'm serious about the chrome."
He left.
V flopped back into the chair. Pings.
📩 [Rebecca] – "You're too quiet. That means you're doing something responsible. Ew."
📩 [Fukui] – "Did you actually buy clothes yet? I'm not checking your balance, but I am checking your sense of dignity."
V typed nothing. He smirked.
"This city's a carnival. And I'm the clown car."
He sent Rebecca a selfie holding a wrench and wearing nothing but shorts. Sent Fukui a picture of shoes in a shopping bag. Called it balance.
He stepped toward the shower.
Night City could wait.
For now? Clean chrome, full stomach, quiet room.
Sleep would come easy.
And tomorrow? Jackie gets tuned.