The explosion hit like a hammer, hurling Pilar's body violently through the air before slamming him hard into the ground.
The fireball erupted skyward, snapping the crowd back to their senses.
But Arthur's bullet, which had pierced the man's skull, hadn't finished him off. He raised his hand again, the second grenade aimed squarely at David.
The rookie froze, stunned by the sudden turn of events, eyes locked on the blast site.
Fortunately, Maine reacted quickly, kicking him out of the line of fire.
Rebecca broke from her daze, screaming as she charged at the lunatic like a madwoman.
"You bastard! No one has the right to kill him!"
Her voice was raw with desperate fury, tears streaming down her face.
But waiting for her was a third grenade.
Arthur caught her by the collar, yanking her back from her suicidal rush. His voice cut through the madness, snapping her to her senses.
"Your brother might still be alive. Go check. And don't touch him."
With that, he flung her toward Pilar.
The hole in the lunatic's skull had been open for over ten seconds now. His movements slowed, jerky like a rusted machine.
Still, he stubbornly tried to raise his hand cannon, struggling to aim at Arthur.
Arthur watched coldly, not even bothering to fire again.
The madman managed only three grenades before collapsing, the fourth still in the chamber as he crumpled into his own piss.
"Cyberpsychosis. Never thought I'd run into one here," Jackie muttered.
Arthur pulled his gaze from Maine—who stood dazed on the other side, bracing himself with his arms—and said,
"Let's go check on Pilar. If he's alive, get him to Vik."
Calling Jackie along, the two moved toward the broken man.
As they passed David, Arthur smacked him hard across the back of the head.
"You little shit. Space out again and I'll string you up by the neck and whip you."
Pilar was a wreck—both legs ruined, shredded by shrapnel of every size.
But in a twisted way, he was lucky. The blast had spared his vital organs in the chest and abdomen.
Still, being thrown that far meant his internal injuries were severe.
As Arthur checked him, the Delamain smart taxi Jackie had called rolled up. Expensive, but the fastest option—time was life now.
The vehicle could seat four, but Pilar couldn't sit upright. Which meant only two could ride, with Pilar stretched across the back seat.
Arthur told Rebecca to take her brother first. He'd already sent Vik the details over comms. Whether Pilar lived or not would come down to luck.
Soon after, the rest of the crew arrived.
They found Rebecca crouched at the clinic entrance, staring blankly at the ground.
"How is he?" Arthur asked, stepping closer.
"I don't know. That man said he might not be able to save him… then told me to wait outside."
Her voice trembled, thick with tears, as if something pressed against her throat.
"How long's it been?"
"Over half an hour."
"Don't worry, kid. The longer it takes, the safer it usually is."
Arthur softened his tone, trying to comfort her.
But he knew it was nothing more than empty reassurance.
The street fell silent as the hours dragged on, tension weighing heavy over everyone waiting outside.
They waited the whole night. Finally, when the sky began to pale, the door creaked open.
Rebecca shot up from her corner and rushed forward.
"Is he alive?" she demanded.
"He's alive. For now, at least," Vik said, fatigue in his expression—though for him, it was little more than weariness.
Before he could say more, Rebecca pushed past him inside.
Maine's crew poured in after her, leaving only three "outsiders" at the door.
"This place has never been this crowded," Victor said with a dry chuckle.
Arthur, sensing Vik hadn't finished, pressed,
"How's he doing? I'm guessing the guy's legs are gone."
"Not just his legs," Vik said, his tone carrying a strange weight.
Arthur and Jackie understood immediately. But in this age, injuries like that weren't the end.
Slap on some heavy chrome and he'd be back in action—maybe even better than before.
Reading their thoughts, Vik snapped, irritated.
"I don't deal with that kind of chrome here."
When the three entered, they found Rebecca kneeling by the operating table, tugging at Pilar's ear.
Despite seeing her brother reduced to half a man, she didn't look the least bit sad.
Vik quickly reminded her,
"He won't wake up for a while. The anesthesia hasn't worn off."
Hearing that, Rebecca reluctantly let go.
"That idiot. I told him to stay out of it. Now he's half a man. Serves him right."
She turned to Victor, looking up at him.
"Doctor, how much to save that fool?"
Vik, who charged however he felt, thought for a moment before answering.
"Ten thousand. Just a bit of trouble, really."
"You're actually being cheap," Rebecca muttered.
Vik scowled but kept talking.
"Listen, his condition's clear. From now on, he's disabled. Civilian Cyberware might help him walk, but combat is out of the question."
Combat-grade Cyberware was a world apart from civilian rehabilitation models. To enhance combat ability, one thing was essential: reaction speed.
To match or surpass natural reflexes, combat chrome had to plug directly into the nervous system.
In other words, it overlaid the original limb instead of replacing it, putting massive strain on the nerves.
Civilian Cyberware, by contrast, worked more like external machinery. They stayed outside the body's systems, causing no strain at all.
Rebecca didn't care—she knew how close Pilar had come to death.
"It's fine. My dumb brother should just stay home and play with his toys instead of running around risking his life."
And so, Pilar survived.
Just then, Dorio's voice cut through.
"Maine, you've seen what this Doctor can do. Your body's been failing lately—why not get checked while we're here?"
For days, Maine had refused treatment, blaming Night City's shady ripperdocs. But this time, that excuse wouldn't work.
This Doctor had saved his subordinate's life. To Maine, that was the same as saving his own. His principles demanded he respect Vik.
Seeing him lower his head in silence, Dorio pressed,
"Maine, your hand cannon malfunctioned earlier. If it hadn't been for Arthur, all of us would've been in danger."
Maine's head snapped up as he roared,
"My own body, I know—!"
But seeing the stares around him, he cut himself off.
He knew his body better than anyone.
And he knew he was standing at the edge of a cliff.
The memory of last night's cyberpsychotic frenzy sent dread washing through him.
Keep lying, and risk killing the people he cherished most?
Hold to his late brother's final words, only to lose control and slaughter his family?
Conflicting emotions tore at his mind, and a fragile hope surfaced again.
"I won't go mad, right? I'm different. And even if I did lose it… that doesn't mean I'd hurt them, does it?"
But that thought was fragile—just look at Pilar.
Even if he snapped, could his crew really pull the trigger without hesitation?
Pilar had survived with only half his body. A fluke.
More likely, others would've died for him.
So should he abandon his childhood dream, the mission his brother entrusted to him… or keep pushing forward, risking the lives of his own people?
What mattered most?
Maine had reached the point where he had to choose.
...
(70 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser